Complete Warhawks
by N. Kage
Summary: This is the complimation of all of my Warhawks stuff, published and unpublished.


So, after being checked out by the folks at Imperial Literature and Black Library forums, this is the new Warhawks/ Hunting the Fallen complete.

Does anyone have any good titles suggestions?

**Warhawks**

Introduction

The Battle of Hell's Gate

Chapter 1

Landings, objective reached

Resting his head against the side of the shaking Thunderhawk gunship, Sergeant Mepesto, of the Warhawks 2nd Company, focused his thoughts and carefully reviewed his objectives, planning the route he and his squad would take from the maps he had committed to memory two days before.

The world of Greta Minor was a standard Imperial world with a population of about one-hundred million people, with weak Planetary Defense Forces and few defenses, for the world was far removed from the obvious war-zones of the Ultima Segmentum and the Cadian Gate. It was weak and unprepared for the hell-storm of revolt that engulfed it. A massive underground cult had permeated every strata of the world and the Adeptus Arbites, the infamous Judges that kept order on every Imperial World, were massacred from within their stony, sheer walled Precinct-Houses. The few loyal PDF regiments found themselves being attacked from all sides, by their fellow PDF troopers, by their officers, by the very populace, armed with guns and munitions taken from the Governors secret arsenal and the Arbites. With a week, cultists had total control of the planet, with every Imperial prescience eradicated, except for a single Interrogator. Jonas Hemoces was his name, and before he was torn apart by braying mobs of blood-mad cultists, he managed to transmit a single distress call.

The Warhawks Battle Barge _Phoenix Rising_ was on a recruiting trip for the Second and Fourth Companies, when the distress beacon was intercepted. Within two standard weeks, the _Phoenix Rising_ was in high orbit around the world and would have destroyed the planet with cyclonic torpedoes until the Second Company Captain, Gregor Mankiller, found a document, dating back several thousand years, about some relics contained on the world. These relics included a set of archaic power-armor, which once belonged to the Warhawks. Thus, the world had to be retaken, in the Emperors name.

Mepesto's first objective was to secure a nearby PDF barracks, located on a strategic hill and provide a base of fire for a fast-moving wedge of armor that would punch towards the capital of New Hope. An ironic name, the grizzled Sergeant thought, the Space Marines are to be this world's new hope. After the cultist lines had been breached by the armor, Mepesto's squad would rejoin the main advance and push into the capital, where the set of armor was believed to be. He had personally been tasked with securing the power-armor by Captain Gregor himself. He smiled proudly to himself; he had fought at the Captains side for two decades and bore his scars with pride. However, he had no idea what the fourth company was up to.

A close shell-burst snapped Mepesto out of his revere. He leaned his head forward again and looked around the armored bay of the Thunderhawk and the three squads of Warhawks strapped in there. Closest to him was his squad. Lucis, with a gigantic plasma-cannon, was next to him, Salk, with his melta-gun, sat across from the Sergeant. In the middle of the hold, sat Jengo's devastator squad, behind them sat Sergeant Korpes tactical squad.

"Fifteen seconds!" came a voice in Mepesto's vox-link, and into the vox of every Marine in the hold. It was the serf-pilot, his voice sounding strained even over the static hiss of the vox.

Mepesto switched to external vocalization with a thought, his deep and commanding voice cutting through the ever present shell-fire, "Brothers, today we take the fight to the foul minions of the dark gods! They deserve nothing but hatred and death! So let's give it to them!" The little jest had these battle-hardened Space Marines smiling inside their helmets, a few laughing.

"Five seconds!" again came the serf-pilot. The Thunderhawk was shaking violently now, and small-arms fire rattled against the armored sides, with larger rounds occasionally punching through, leaving shafts of bright light penetrating the red-hazard lighted gloom of the interior.

With a bone-jarring crash, the Thunderhawk touched down on its landing talons and with a pneumatic pop and hiss, the back hatch of the gunship flew open to land with a clang. His restraint harness snapped off instantly and Mepesto was the first off the ramp, his bolt pistol out and barking at a pair of cultists trying to set up a heavy stubber across from the Thunderhawk. They did not live long.

To the left and right of Mepesto's 'hawk, the other three Thunderhawks carrying the rest of the Second Company touched down and the green and red armored warriors they carried boiled out with a fury, charging towards their various objectives.

Mepesto rallied his squad around him with a sweep of his hand and he set off, the PDF barracks rising from Hill 20 like a grey shadow. To the left of the barracks, the town of Kan was already shrouded in smoke and pockmarked with craters.

A slit trench opened up in front of Mepesto and the Sergeant fell into it, cursing at his stupidity. However, the massive Space Marine crushed a cultist under his bulk. Another cultist swung a squealing chainsword at the Sergeants head. Snarling, Mepesto tried to draw his power-sword, a gift from Chaplain Cadius, but the long blade was trapped under his body. However, the blow did not land. Instead, the sword, with a hand attached, fell over the trench lip. Gunner Lucis, his plasma-cannon smoking, appeared over the Sergeant and offered him a hand. Shaking his head in shame, the Sergeant took the hand and stood, finally drawing his power-sword and activating the ancient weapon with a flourish.

Mepesto looked up quickly and saw that the trench zigzagged towards the barracks. A mortar shell landed abruptly in the open ground to the right of the trench and hard clots of earth rained down on the Sergeants shoulder-guards.

"Alright, follow the trench! In the name of the Emperor, kill the Chaos bastards!" Mepesto shouted through his external vocalizer. It was more effective in terms of morale to shout over the shell-bursts and the whinny of ricochets.

The Sergeant ran down the trench and spun around a corner. A dozen PDF troopers were busy manning heavy weapons, pouring merciless fire at the advancing Marines, whose armor had not landed yet. Raising his bolt pistol, he emptied the magazine towards the cultists, the mass-reactive bolts detonating with dull cracks and blowing open torsos sickeningly. Eight were down. The last group, realizing their line was broken, drew las-pistols and fired at the Sergeant. The pitiful las bolts glanced off Mepesto's power-armor and he charged forward, swinging his sword in a down-up slash, the power-blade slashing through the cultist's flak armor with ease. Two of the cultist's were cut messily in half. The last two turned to run, but the bolters of his squad cut them down, the weapons distinctive report sounding small against the battle raging around them.

Nodding his thanks to Brothers Felix and Towal, Mepesto set off again, reloading his pistol. Taking the barracks and providing covering fire for the rest of the company was urgent. Rounding another corner, Mepesto came upon more cultists, who were setting up a stubber to cover the trench. Mepesto kicked the first square in the face, his heavy boot shattering the mans jaw and nose and sent him flying to land brokenly half a dozen meters away.

A searing melta-beam vaporized the last three and their weapon, leaving a slightly smoking pile of ash. Mepesto turned and looked at Gunner Salk, who shrugged in answer. The beam had almost caught the Sergeant.

The squad set off again, cutting down frantic cultists as they fought back pointlessly against the attacking Warhawks. The trench was slowly angling up, leading up to the PDF barracks.

Mepesto crouched for a moment, leaning his back against the trench-wall and slammed home another pistol magazine. A loud and raucous cry got his attention. The Sergeant leaned out, and could see the large, double doors of the barracks open and at least one hundred cultists pour out. Gritting his teeth, Mepesto motioned up Gunner Lucis. The plasma-gunner stepped out and opened up with his massive cannon, the coils glowing red hot after the third discharge. Mepesto stood and looked at the havoc. Most of the cultists had been caught in the open, between the barracks and where the trench ended. At least several dozen had been killed and the counter-attack had been stopped just as soon as began.

Chapter 2

Mepesto slammed his armored form into the double doors and rolled as they crashed in, his bolt-pistol raised and scanning for targets. Not a soul stirred in that first hallway.

"Get to the roof and put some fire out!" Mepesto shouted, waving his squad through the entrance with his shimmering power-sword. The Sergeant kicked in another door at random, this one revealing what looked like officer's quarters. A massive, solid wood desk dominated the center of the room. The desk was bare, abet a strange, twisted knife, which was covered in eye-aching symbols, which seemed to writhe and twist as he looked upon it. Mepesto pulled a krak grenade from his belt and set it on the knife and set the timer before stepping out and hurrying to join his squad on the roof, from whence he could hear the shriek of plasma-bolts and the distinctive crack-shriek of bolters.

On the roof, his squad had split into three groups, each covering a suspected route of retreat the traitor filth could take. All three groups were firing on full auto. Gunner Lucis's armor was blackened from his overheating plasma-cannon.

"Mepesto, have you taken the barracks?" a voice squawked in his internal vox-link. The Sergeant guessed it was Captain Mankiller.

"Captain, we have secured the objective and are cutting down the traitor bastards in droves. Has the armor landed yet?"

The vox-like was quiet for a minute, and then the Captain responded, "Yes, the armor just touched down. Fourth Company has landed north, above New Hope, but have run into extremely fierce resistance around some temple-complex. I'm sending a portion of the armor to help them out, so relief will take a little longer to come to you. Do you require anything?"

"Just more ammunition, Captain! Praise the Emperor."

"Praise the Emperor, Sergeant."

Mepesto circled his squad, shouting encouragement over the many sounds of battle. The ground around the barracks was coated in blood, and mounds of corpses lay everywhere. A foul wail came from behind the Sergeant and the Space Marine spun on his heel, his bolt pistol at the ready. A man, if he could still be called that, was climbing up the stairs to the roof. His skin was carved with numerous and foul symbols, and they seemed to move of their own accord. Mepesto did not hesitate to fire, the heavy pistol roaring in his hand. The bolts passed through the man, who shimmered and shifted, seeming in this world at one moment, and another the next. The sorcerer raised his hands and foul blue lightening shot from his fingertips, smashing Mepesto in the chest and sending him crashing to the roof, two smoking cracks in his armor.

Flipping on to his feet, Mepesto drew his sword, seething in anger and charged the sorcerer/man-thing, slashing the sword in a left to right. If the blow had connected, the sorcerer/man-thing would have been cut from shoulder to hip.

Except the blow didn't land. The glowing power-blade passed straight through the sorcerer/man-thing with an unnatural whoosh. Mepesto snarled in rage and reversed the stroke, stabbing straight through the sorcerer/man-thing's chest. At first the blade did not damage, but the sorcerer/man-thing materialized with the blade still where his chest was. The sorcerer went into convulsions, his flesh sizzling from the power-field around the sword. Mepesto placed a booted foot on the sorcerer's chest and pulled the sword out with a flourish and kicked the lifeless corpse down the stairs.

Gunner Lucis had been watching the whole thing. The big Marine saluted Mepesto, who returned the gestured with his smoking sword.

"Sergeant, the traitor scum have finished withdrawing past us! We should chase them down and offer them no time for respite!"

Mepesto laughed as he holstered his bolt pistol, "Lucis, I like your attitude. Except we have to hold this location until relieved. Pick off as many as you can!" Now it was Lucis's turn to laugh.

"Acknowledged Sergeant."

For several minutes, the Marines armed with bolters in Mepesto's squad picked off the fleeing stragglers, until they had finally fled out of range. Several, including Mepesto, reloaded their weapons and waited for their Rhino APC to arrive to pick them up, but it came. Mepesto tried radioing the driver, but all that meet him was a wave of static.

Mepesto looked to the north, wondering if he could see a column of dust and smoke that would show the location of the armor. He did indeed see one, far north, at least fifty kilometers. The sky, he also noticed, had turned a bruised black, and unnatural clouds were approaching from all directions.

"Squad! We're walking! Fall out!"

Just as the squad hustled out the barracks, a screech erupted from Mepesto's vox.

The first seconds of the communication were solid static. Finally, Captain Mankillers harsh voice cut in. The background noise was screaming and gunfire.

"I repeat, Mepesto!"

"Yes, Captain?"

"The fourth company has been all but wiped out! The temple complex they had taken proved to be a gigantic trap! It was a warp-gate! Thousands of daemon-scum are attacking us now! Hold you position and wait for us!"

"Captain, is extraction possible?"

"Not as of this time! The storm the gate has brought down is stopping all flight. We are on our own at this time."

"What of the fourth company survivors?" Mepesto asked again.

"We have three Rhinos and a Razorback full of them. But that is all. We should reach your position in two hours, depending on how close the daemons are. Hold your position!"

"Yes Sir." Mepesto stated with grim determination and hate in his voice. The fourth company once had one-hundred and thirty Marines. Now it had about forty Marines.

Chapter 3

Mepesto and his Marines stood, shoulder to shoulder in one of the trenches to the front of the PDF barracks, scanning the horizon. The unnatural storm had brought darkness in less than thirty minutes, and the Sergeant had long since lost sight of the First Company. Then, he could see muzzle flashes and search lights far in the distance. Captain Mankiller had twenty minutes until his two hours were up. The wind had also picked up, carrying with it the sounds of screaming and terrible howling. He could sense his squad was nervous. Mepesto was too, but he could not show it. So, he began to chant the Litany of Hate.

"While the traitor still draws breath, we will know only hate!" shouted the Sergeant, his voice carrying across the broken ground in front of the PDF barracks. The searchlights were closer now, maybe only fifteen kilometers away.

"While the alien stills lives, we will know no comfort!" Half the squad joined in now. Mepesto had switched to the all squads frequency to inspire the souls of all the Warhawks within range. The lights were still getting closer but Mepesto could not make out individual vehicles or the like. Captain Mankiller now had ten minutes until he was late.

"While the mutant still walks, we will know no respite!" The entire squad had joined in now, most carefully aiming weapons towards the closing cloud. Behind the tanks, a thick, black wall of fog came closer. Unnatural lightning flashed across the fog and sinister howling was carried to them on the wind.

"While the heretic still breathes, we will know no fear!" The range estimation was now less than two kilometers. Mepesto could easily make out individual vehicles. He could see Captain Mankillers personal Land Raider Crusader, driving backwards, firing all weapons into the unnatural black fog. The Sergeant increased the magnification of his helmet and realized the daemons were trying to use the fog as cover! One of the Rhinos, one of the few still with Fourth Company markings, fell behind, having thrown a track in the broken ground. The passengers poured out, bolters blazing, taking down a dozen or more daemons before they were overwhelmed, swamped by the sheer amount of daemons.

"While the daemon still sins, we will know only death!" The armor of the Second Company slewed to a halt behind the trenches, throwing up a cloud of dust and smoke in front of the horde of daemon-spawn. Mepesto could not believe the sheer number and diversity of the daemons. He had fought daemons before, but never in these kind of numbers.

Mepesto glanced over as Captain Mankiller jumped into the trench next to him, his plasma-pistol shrieking at as a tentacled monstrosity dragged away two Marines, acid eating away their armor. The Sergeant added his fire to the Captains and the monstrosity seemed to implode. The Marines were very dead, great holes in their torsos and heads.

"Just another day, eh, Sergeant!" Captain Mankiller shouted. Mankiller had lost his head somewhere, and had a gash across his forehead, blood running between his service studs. The Captain dodged back as a blood –drenched, heavily-armored daemon slashed a massive axe at him. Mankiller smashed the daemon aside with his crackling power-fist.

"You brought quite a lot of them, Captain!" Mepesto returned, empting his pistol into another of the armored daemons. Before he could reload, another jumped at him, swinging the axe down. Before the blow could fall, Lucis blew the daemon out of the air with his plasma-cannon. The Gunner was blackened and coated with gore, but his cannon never stopped firing. Until a black and blue daemon with far too many breasts used a pincer-claw to snip off his head in a delicate way. Mepesto avenged the brave Gunner by cutting the daemon in half with his power-sword.

"Kill them all Sergeant!" Mankiller returned, whilst quickly replacing the fuel-cells on his pistol under the covering fire of a heavy flamer. Mepesto quickly looked around the trench and drew strength from what he saw. The line of Second and Fourth Company was holding, if temporary, against the flood of daemons. A daemon, strange and bloated, flailed rotting appendages at Mepesto, threatening to throw him off his feet. Reacting instantly, the Sergeant cut the thing in half with his power-sword. Glancing back down the line, he saw the white armored forms of Apothecaries running along the trench line, unwilling to let the precious gene-seed fall to the daemons. All the while, he could hear the roar of bolters, the shriek of tank-mounted lascannons, assault cannons and multi-meltas.

"I don't think we can, Captain." Mepesto swatted aside another daemon, his sword slicing through it effortlessly. The power-field sputtered and died a second later and the Sergeant quickly changed the power-cell. However, even with Mepesto's negativity, over the last minutes, the host of daemon-scum had slackened their assault, but Captain Mankiller still seemed wary. He had ordered a pair of battered devastator squads to the roof of the PDF barracks to act as sentries and kept trying to contact the Phoenix Rising. Long-range communications were still down, which was hardly surprising. The storm the daemons had brought with them was getting worse. The wind had risen and great black thunderheads filled the sky. Unnatural blue lightning was flashing in the distance, seeming to strike down in the same general area as New Hope and the cathedral where this whole thing had began.

The Fourth Company squads seemed demoralized, even from a distance. They seemed to be thinking of the Marines that had been lost. Their Captain, Reforas, had been killed by a larger daemon and when the warp-gate opened, their Librarians head exploded. Chaplain Tausel, of the 2nd Company began to forge them back into a fighting force. A band of daemons, in blood-red armor, charged the section of the line the Fourth Company was defending. Tausel was at the fore, a steadfast beacon of courage, his Crozius Arcanum crackling as daemon-blood boiled and melted off it.

"Be way Marines,' began Tausel, as he strode down the trench, which was knee deep in blood and ichor, dotted with the bodies of Battle-Brothers, 'This lull is foul plot to weaken our line and leave us unprepared! But they will no find a Warhawks Marine unprepared! Against all odds, we have stood firm and we shall do so again and again until the fearless Thunderhawk crews fight their way through this foul and unnatural storm that had engulfed this miserable world. Not that we need rescuing, though!"

Mepesto smiled with the Chaplains words and looked over to see Captain Mankiller chuckle for a moment before turning serious again, clenching and unclenching his glowing power-fist. The Chaplains words had struck home with every Marine, lifting their spirits and hardening their resolve. They would not fail this day.

"We have taken many causalties, especially the brave and noble Fourth Company!' Tausel continued, closing with Mepesto location, 'one-hundred and fifteen brave Marines have died this day! Do not let their deaths be in vain! For each one of them, slay one-hundred of the daemon-scum!' The Chaplain had probably killed one-hundred of the daemons by himself. He was covered from head to foot in blood and gore, some of it his. When Tausel passed in front of Mepesto, the Sergeant noticed a massive rend in the Chaplains side, a blow that had obviously cut deep into Tausel's chest and stomach. 'Let us be filled with righteous hate against those foul scum!"

"Here they come again!" A Sergeant from one of the devastator squads shouted, pointing the north.

Book 1

Chaplain Kylan and Captain Mepesto

Chapter 1

Lange Fields; Enter Mepesto

"When will my soul be like thrice-forged steel?" shouted Chaplain Kylan to the survivors of the first company of the Warhawks Chapter as the orks charged again, their fire-red eyes glowing in the Space Marines visors. This was the tenth day straight day of battle, and the orks were still coming.

"In the heat of battle!" came the reply over the crash of seventy-five bolters firing. They had run out of flamer canisters and the like yesterday and were running out of bolter ammunition, but the orks kept coming. Captain Koresh had died two days ago killing a particularly huge ork, probably a so called 'war boss' and that had almost broken the Company, but their righteous fury drove them on. Kylan was in-charge now and his litanies of hate drove the Marines on. The ork weapons were crude and malfunctioned half the time, but with so many firing at once, a dozen Marines fell, their armor breached in a half-dozen places by numerous hard-round impacts. Hundreds of orks had died now, and their charge was beginning to lose momentum.

"When does your duty to the Emperor end?" again yelled Kylan as the next ork wave came into sight. This one was slowed by the sheer number of corpses and even more died from the massed volleys of Space Marines. Even so, the orks were making progress towards the Space Marine line.

"In deaths cold embrace!" again came the shouted reply. Ammo was scarce now, the bodies of the dead Marines being carefully searched for any and all magazines. Since most of the Marines were firing single shots now, the charge slammed home almost undiminished. All along the line the Space Marines were fighting viscously against the orks. Chaplain Kylan was at the fore, his shining Crozius Arcanum sizzling as thick green ork blood boiled off the power field. A giant ork reared in front of Kylan, a massive cleaver raised above its head. Snarling, Kylan sliced his Crozius into the orks chest, but the razor-sharp blade stuck fast in its rib-cage. Bellowing, the ork wrapped its arms around Kylan and squeezed him in a giant bear-hug. Kylan could hear the power-generator on his back sputter as the ork crushed him, then he could feel the ceramite plate that formed his back-armor begin to crack. Kylan brought his helmeted forehead straight down into the orks nose with the gut-wrenching crack of bone. The ork released its bear-hug, thick green blood gushing from its crushed nose and Kylan shot it in the head three times with his bolt-pistol. The plasma-pistol he normally carried had taken a piece of shrapnel to one of the coils and he did not want to risk the ancient thing blowing up in his hand and so was safely tucked into a holster. Looking around, Kylan could see this wave had ended, but a low chanting from the ork lines signaled that another was about to begin.

"What will be your reward?" shouted Kylan. He had no doubts that they would all die today, but they would sit at the right hand of the Emperor in the next life.

"The knowledge I have done my duty!" was the reply from the fifty battered survivors of the 1st Company. Every Marine was bloody and battered, but the determination in their voices was clear as day. This battle would be both a tragedy and a display of courage to future generations of Space Marines. The next wave was in sight now, this one comprised of thousands of orks, their battle-cries deafening. Behind the orks, crude smoking tanks drove, clanking and sputtering, dozens of slave creatures repairing the tanks as they rode along. Kylan quickly checked the load on his pistol and found it empty. In disgust, Kylan dropped his pistol in the liquid mud at his feet and held his Crozius in both hands.

"What will be your battle-cry?" shouted Kylan as the ork wave was almost upon them, their firearms forgotten in their battle-lust. The Chaplain raised his Crozius above his head and bisected the first ork that came over the barricade, the orks moment carrying the two halves of the green beast past Kylan.

"Death comes for you!" came the reply as the Marines began to fight their last battle. Suddenly, the sky was lit up by flame. From the clouds, came a dozen or more drop-pods, their green and red hulls glowing. With a shriek of landing thrusters, the drop-pods slowed and landed in the middle of the ork horde. Automated storm-bolters on the drop-pods opened fire and chewed a clear circle around each drop-pod. Then, the pods split open like seed-pods and the men of the Second Company poured out, bolters blazing. The orks died in droves, such was the shock the drop assault.

The Second Company Marines pushed the orks back over their own dead, leaving dozens more corpses in their wake. Captain Jorran was at the fore, his ancient power sword cleaving a 'Nob' in two, and his plasma-pistol spitting death. Descending down behind the drop-pods came three squads of Assault Marines, their jump packs flaring as they neared the ground, bolt pistols barking. The Assault squads had landed in the orks line of retreat, cutting them off to be culled like cattle.

One Marine in particularly ornate power armor, with golden eagle heads decorating the exhaust vents on his power-pack and purity seals dotted along his chest-plate, strode up to Kylan.

"Are you Master-Chaplain Kylan?" spoke the Marine in a deep, commanding voice, a gold lightening claw on his right hand, and a storm bolter slung over his left shoulder-guard. Kylan noticed that the Marine had already painted the center strip of his helmet red, which marked him as of the First Company.

"Yes, I am." Kylan replied, picking up his bolt-pistol and holstering it. He would have to placate its venerable machine-spirit later.

"I am Captain Mepesto. The Council has heard of death of Captain Koresh and I have been sent to replace him." Kylan could see an Iron Halo rising from the center of the Captains power-pack and he wondered what the Captain had done to earn such an honored relic.

"Well, sir, this is fairly irregular, usually the company promotes someone from within to be the Company Captain, and I don't know why the Council would… _force_ someone upon us." Kylan knew that he was being slightly insubordinate to the Captain, but it was tradition in the Company that the new Captain was elected.

"Chaplain, after the Hell Gate massacre, the Council would have sent me to a reserve company, but after hearing of the death of Captain Koresh, I requested this company for my command." Mepesto inwardly cringed, he did not want humiliate his new Chaplain like that, but Kylan had to know. Mepesto had a different reason for selecting the first company for his command, but Kylan did not need to know right now.

"I'm sorry, Captain, I didn't realize…"

"It's alright, Kylan. Now, you can say you survived the Lange Fields massacre. Now, Thunderhawks are coming to gather up the men, we'll be going back to the _Swooping Flame_ to get reinforcements from the reserve companies. I'll address the Company after that."

"Acknowledged, Captain." With that, Kylan walked back to where the 1st Company had arranged themselves in perfect parade formation, tattered banners flapping in the light breeze. Kylan was proud of the Company; any other force would be lounging, or taking trophies, like the heretical Space Wolves. Unwashed barbarians, though Kylan before banishing the thoughts from his mind.

"Attention, my Battle-Brothers' began Kylan, 'I am immensely proud of you all. The dead shall be remembered as the Emperors Finest. Your bravery will be taught to the new initiates and the names of the dead will be recorded in the Hall of Heroes in the Chapter Monastery."

As one, the fifty survivors of the Lange Fields Massacre raised their voices in a cheer.

Aboard the _Wraith of the Emperor_

Cradling his helmet under his arm, Captain Mepesto strode up to the podium in front of the assembled 1st Company. Just days after the Lange Fields massacre, the Company was still at about seventy percent strength, even with reinforcements. Now, Mepesto was addressing the marines.

"Praise the Emperor" began Mepesto, his deep voice reverberating off the distant walls of Chapel.

"Praise the Emperor" boomed the men of the 1st Company in return.

"As you already know, I will be taking over command of this company after the death of the honored Captain Koresh. Since the company has lost much of its strength at Lange Fields, I will be limiting the Companies deployments to small-unit actions until such time that it is at full strength,' Mepesto paused, gathering his thoughts, 'For those of you who don't know, I fought at the Hell Gate and for my actions there, I was given the command of this Company. Let me tell you the tale from my view, even though I know you probably have read the reports. The daemons had just attacked, and we were falling back in disarray. Dozens of good Marines had already died and the bearer of the Second Company's standard had just been slain, the sacred banner being propped up by his body. I rallied my squad around me and pushed forward through the daemons to recover the standard. By the time I reached the Banner, my entire squad was dead. I lifted the Banner above my head, and forged my way back to firing line. One hour later, the Thunderhawks, _Eagle Flight_ and _Salvation,_ picked up the survivors.' Mepesto paused again, the weight of so many dead comrades heavy on his mind, 'After the Chaplain Kylan's sermon, we shall resume training." With that, Mepesto saluted and strode away, to join his squad at the front of the Chapel.

Kylan nodded to him and took his place at the podium. "KNEEL!" he commanded. With a deafening crash, one-hundred and sixty armored knees hit the adamantine floor.

"Where would we be without the Emperor?" asked Kylan

"Nowhere, for the Emperor is all." Responded the 1st Company as one, their deep voices echoing.

"What do we ask of Him?"

"Nothing, we owe Him for His sacrifice."

"What does He ask of us?"

"Our unquestioning obedience and undying loyalty."

"How will you be judged by the Emperor?"

"By the measure of my life's deeds."

"Praise the Emperor"

"Praise the Emperor."

Mepesto stayed after the sermon, he needed to speak to Kylan. The Chaplain was still standing behind the great oak podium, watching the company file out of the Chapel to resume their training. Mepesto rose and walked over to Kylan.

"Do you have a moment, Master Chaplain?" Mepesto was purposely formal, what he needed to speak to the Chaplain about deserved nothing less.

"For the faithful, I always have time.' The Chaplain responded, 'Do you wish to go to my Reclusium?" The Reclusium was the Chaplains personal quarters, located behind the Main Chapel.

"I believe we should." The Chaplain lead Mepesto to a small, sparse room tucked away. His room had a bed, statues of the Emperor, Robute Guilliman and Sebastian Thor. He also had an armor and weapons stand, the dark wood worn with age and use.

"What would you like to speak to me about, Captain?" The Chaplain had remained standing, but had removed his rictus-masked helmet. Few Marines had seen the Chaplains face and this was Mepesto's first time. The Chaplain had a square, set jaw, with piercing blue eyes. Across his face, the shadows of pre-Marine tattoos could be seen; a serpent cowling on his cheek, and a sunburst on the other. On his brow, there were one silver and two white studs, for one-hundred years as a Sergeant, and two-hundred years as a Chaplain.

"Chaplain Kylan, I felt the need to tell you this information, because I feel you can be trusted with this information, since it could pose a morale issue. I have requested the command of this company for a different reason. I have sworn an oath to the Emperor, in front of the Council, that I will hunt down and kill Bjorn Death-Hand, and bring his head before the Council. To make this task more difficult than it currently is, the company cannot take on more recruits. Do you understand?" Mepesto bowed his head and waited for the Chaplain to answer.

After a tense moment, Kylan answered, "Yes, Captain, I do understand and I am proud that you have chosen this company for this task. Is there anything else, sir?"

Mepesto looked up and saw that the Chaplain had replaced his helmet and picked up his Crozius and was staring at the ancient power weapon.

"No, Chaplain. I will let you return to your duties." Mepesto saluted and turned on his heel, walking out of the Chaplains quarters. He had to see how the training was progressing with his new company.

Chapter 2

Interrogation; Traitors are found

Kylan stood in the shadows, watching the former Space Marine struggle futilely against the great chains binding him to the huge, black slab of granite. Surrounding the prisoner were dozens of statues. They were former Chaplains of the Warhawks, and had been built in such a way that they were looking down upon whoever was there, as if the dead were judge, jury, and executioner.

"Who is your Lord?" Kylan asked of the prisoner, his deep voice echoing off the walls of the tiny chamber.

"I have no lord, except the Chaos powers.' Responded the prisoner derisively, his voice sarcastic. 'You would believe to, but your faith in a corpse-god blinds you!" the prisoner spat.

"The Emperor is your Lord!' screamed Kylan, striding up to the prisoner and back-handing him across his face. 'I worship the God-Emperor, as you once did, but you were weak, you allowed yourself to be swayed by false promises and the teachings of heretics!"

"Ha! You call the Word Bearers heretics? They were once the most pious of Legions, until the Emperor turned his back on them! They found better masters, masters who awarded and gave them gifts for their worship. What does your Emperor do for you? He gives no gifts; He lets you have no favors. Why do you worship him?" The prisoner responded back, his tone harsh and critical.

"The Emperor gives His favors in the next world! I know when I die; I will be seated at His right hand, whereas you will be the plaything of daemons. Because you worship the dark gods, you will be tormented for all eternity!' The Chaplain countered masterfully. 'Tell me where Bjorn is!" Kylan resumed his questioning, his arms crossed behind him.

Smiling in a way that made Kylan feel unclean, the prisoner said, "You should stop worrying about where Bjorn is and instead worry about your faith. The false-Emperor is not worth your praise and admiration. There are other powers in this universe you know…" Kylan had taken a scalpel and sliced an Imperial Eagle in the traitor's chest. The traitor bled black blood and the symbol made the bastards skin burn, the foul smoke causing Kylan to grimace.

Walking in circles around the prisoner, Kylan thought about the fortuitous events that brought the prisoner into his custody.

FLASHBACK

Korkan Subsector

Hags World

Mepesto kicked another traitor in the face and pumped a dozen rounds from his storm-bolter into the bastards' torso, blowing him apart. He had reports that Bjorn Death-Hand and the other traitors of the Fifth and Sixth companies were in the sector and had lead his company to investigate. After landing on the planet, they were immediately ambushed by the traitors. Now, the outnumbered, 1st Company was falling back, trying to whittle down the traitors numbers until they could be extracted. Looking closer at the dead traitor, he remembered the Marines name. Koran Lopet, he was a sergeant in the sixth company. Now he was nothing, receiving the Emperors Vengeance in the after-life.

"Fall back to sector Delta-4!" yelled Mepesto into the vox-link. Delta-4 was the pre-planned extraction point. A dozen acknowledgement runes flashed in his vision. To his left, a Dreadnought bearing the name Ideaus strode through a mob of traitors, the twin-linked las-cannons mounted on the right side of its armored frame punching fist sized holes in two of the foul traitors. The rest fell back in disarray as the Dreadnought's flamer opened up, immolating another two.

Seeing another group of traitors emerge from the tree line, Mepesto turned and emptied the rest of his clip at them, dropping three and sending the rest diving for cover. With that, he hurried to rejoin his men, falling back several klicks to Delta-4. It was grueling slog, every few hundred meters; they were forced to fight as the traitors closed with them.

The first fight was against a mob of Raptors that destroyed Brother Ideaus with melta-bombs. Two dozen marines, several with flamers and plasma-guns turned and poured merciless amounts of fire into the Raptors, killing them with righteous fire. Mepesto stopped and took on of the purity seals of his armor and placed it on Brother Ideaus's burnt-out shell. His wisdom had taught generations of Marines. Now he was gone, killed by his own brothers. Seething with hatred, Mepesto turned and jogged to catch up with his Marines.

At Extraction Point Delta-4

"Pour it on, brothers!" shouted Mepesto as the traitors attacked the encircled First Company again. The Chaos Marines had stopped their attack, and had instead sent hundreds of screaming cultists to their deaths against the Warhawks dark green and red line. To Mepesto's right, a Veteran Sergeant with a power fist and bionic eye, Olav was his name, killed four cultists with one mighty swing, the blood forming a fine mist. Then, as abruptly as it started, the cultist attack ended. Looking over the hastily built barricade, Mepesto saw the traitor marines forming up, their hideous banners swaying with unnatural wind. The winged blood-drop symbol of the Warhawks was obscured with crudely painted eight pointed stars. With the cry, "Death to the False Emperor!" the Chaos Marines charged. A heavy weapons squad had set up and was sending chains of heavy bolter fire screaming at the Warhawk line. One round punched into his knee, and pitched him over. Gritting his teeth until the pain-suppressors kicked in, Mepesto stood back up.

The last two Predators that they had brought with them opened fire, their las-cannons sending bright blue streaks of death into the heavy weapons squad, punching four off their feet. As the lines of Traitors reached the kill-zone, every Warhawk opened fire, sending disciplined bolter volleys in the traitors. As the traitors neared, the Warhawks close-ranged weapons opened fire, the flamers, melta-guns and plasma-guns purifying the traitors. One particular traitor caught Mepesto's attention. Stepping onto the barricade, he called out, "Janis Dead-Eye! Come face me, you traitorous bastard!" The large Marine turned, blood dribbling down his mouth, a severed head grasped in his hand. Janis was the Captain of the fifth company, and his cruelty was fast becoming the stuff of legends. Grinning, Janis saw Mepesto and strode forward, backhanding his own Marines out of the way. Yelling "Death Comes For You," Mepesto meet the traitor charge, his lighting claw slashing left and right, while his storm-bolter cut down those who unfortunate enough to be in his way. Around him, his Marines followed him, determined to extract vengeance upon the traitorous bastards.

Lighting claw met daemon sword in a shower of sparks. Spinning and dropping to a crouch, Mepesto fired a shower of bolts at Janis. The bolts exploded in the traitor's torso, blowing holes large enough that daylight could be seen through them, but Janis stayed on his feet, kicking Mepesto hard in the chest, cracking the armor and sending steam wheezing out of a broken fluid line. Flipping on to his feet, Mepesto sliced downward, toward Janis's head. The traitor dodged out of the way and stabbed under Mepesto's guard, his unholy sword aimed at the Captains stomach. His Iron Halo flashed, and the blow rebounded. The two Captains broke apart for a moment.

"You will die Janis, the Emperor is with me!" Mepesto taunted while reloading his storm-bolter.

"Ha, no servant of the False Emperor can kill me! I have been in the Eye and made pacts with daemons!" came back the traitor, blood still dripping from his fangs.

Mepesto charged in again, his time his lightening claw stabbing towards Janis's chest, the gold claw gleaming. Janis swept his sword across and tried to deflect the blow, but the Captains weapon punched through Janis's shoulder. Black blood spurted from the wound until the larraman cells clotted, but blood still flowed freely from the grievous wound.

Janis bellowed in rage and shoulder-charged Mepesto, throwing the Captain to the ground. Mepesto lost his storm-bolter and the Chaos Marine stomped down, the heavily armored boot-heel streaking towards Mepesto's head. Frantically, Mepesto stopped the foot and sliced his lightening claw through the traitor's leg, severing it at the knee.

Shrieking like a child, Janis fell back, clutching at his leg. Mepesto rolled over and climbed to his feet, retrieving his storm-bolter. Shaking his head, Mepesto strode over to the traitor Marine and put two rounds through the traitors head, pitching him back onto the blood-soaked ground.

Seeing their leader dead, the traitors fell back, leaving dozens dead on both sides. Hurriedly, Apothecaries ran forward and began extracting the precious gene-seed from the dead, while the Squad Sergeants checked each of the traitors to make sure they were dead.

"Captain!" yelled one of the Sergeants, Olav was his name.

"Yes, Brother-Sergeant?" responded Mepesto as he hurried over.

"We have a live one here." Mepesto checked the traitor and found him to be alive, but unconscious. A bolt had struck his head, but failed to detonate.

"Tie him up. He will know things,' was Mepesto curt reply, 'But, strip his armor from him and leave it."

"Captain Mepesto, this is Serf-Pilot Gregor, five Thunderhawks are en-route." came a garbled voice in his ear, intermixed with creaks and moans of static.

"Be advised, pilot, you may be coming in hot. The traitors have been attacking fiercely. "

"Acknowledged, Captain. We are twenty seconds from your location."

Turning to the rest of the 1st Company, Mepesto stated, "When the 'hawks arrive, fall back by squads. Bring the dead."

END FLASHBACK

The prisoners name Tylan Juinas, a former Veteran Squad member. It was rumored that he had been a member of Bjorn Death-Hands personal retinue and thus would know Bjorn's whereabouts.

"Where is Bjorn Death-Hand!" Kylan yelled again. For three straight days, Kylan had relentlessly interviewed Tylan, stopping when he had lost his patience to torture the traitor, and he lost his patience more and more as the time wore on.

Tylan had remained silent for a moment, then spoke, "You should let me finish telling you about the other powers in this universe. You should be more polite, Chaplain. I did not think that Space Marines got angry." Tylan was sarcastic and caustic-tongued.

"My anger is righteous and my words true! You will be tormented forever by daemons and you will not join the Emperor when he rises from the Golden Thorne to lead the Imperium to victory against the forces of Chaos!" Kylan knew he was getting off topic, but he wanted to break this traitor before he killed him.

"So what if I am tormented forever? Others will continue my work after my death."

"Are you afraid of dieing, traitor?' Kylan spit the last word out, 'Have your long years under the banner of Chaos made you that weak?"

"Ha! I only do not want to rot in this prison for the rest of my life, kept alive by your medical processes and your rejuvenat drugs!"

"If you tell me where Bjorn is, I will make sure your death is quick, this I promise you." Spoke Kylan softly now.

His voice a whisper, Tylan spoke, "He is at Sicarus, but you can not kill him. He had been amassing troops and making pacts with daemons! He will rend your flesh and devour your soul! He will cast the Emperor from his black throne and drink from his skull!"

Kylan strode to the prisoner and fired a single shot into the traitors head. "May the Emperor judge you harshly," he spat.

Opening the door to the chamber, Kylan spoke to the two guards outside, "Notify Captain Mepesto we know where Bjorn is."

At the Company Battle Barge, _Wraith of the Emperor_

"Attention, 1st Company,' began Kylan; Mepesto had thought it was best that he deliver the news and the battle sermon, 'we have found the location of Bjorn Death-Hand and his traitorous followers."

A great cheer erupted, followed by silence. They were disciplined and experienced to know something was to follow.

"Unfortunately, because our Company as taken so many casualties in the past weeks, the Third Company is going to assist us in wiping those traitorous scum from the universe,' continued Kylan, 'now, bow your heads in prayer."

For two minutes, the Company was in personal prayer. Some prayed for strength to fight the coming battle, others prayed for courage to help them face so many of their fallen brothers, others prayed for their very souls; for if some of their number to could be swayed by the Ruinous Powers, it could happen to any of them. Those who had that kind of prayer quickly banished those heretical thoughts from them, praying instead for the kind of strength and courage that Mepesto had at Hell Gate.

"KNEEL!" boomed Kylan, his normally loud voice sounding like a hundred Chaplains in the silence.

"We ask the Emperor for strength." began Kylan

"For we alone cannot stand against the darkness," came the reply

"We ask the Emperor for courage."

"Because against the terror, we need His courage."

"What does the Emperor ask in return for this?"

"Our unquestioning loyalty and our lives."

"What does the traitor have?"

"Nothing. The traitor is cast out from the Emperors light."

"What does the heretic have?"

"Nothing. There is nothing more hated in the entire universe than a heretic."

"Praise the Emperor"

"Praise the Emperor"

"Strength and Honor to you all." Finished Kylan

"Strength and Honor to you, Brother-Chaplain."

Chapter 3

Drop-pod assault; Kylan takes the objective; Loras is ambushed

"When will my soul be like thrice forged steel?" shouted Mepesto as he and his command squad hurtled to the earth in a shaking, bucking drop-pod. They had deployed to the Sicarus sector with the Third Company and prepared a drop-assault. Right now, a score and ten other drop-pods were shooting towards the ground, containing the bulk of the ground troops and Dreadnoughts of the two companies. After the drop-pods had landed, and a perimeter established, Thunderhawks would ferry in the Predators and Rhinos. Then, the real battle would begin, as the Warhawks fought to eradicate the taint upon their Chapter.

"In the heat of Battle!" came the reply from the nine men of the command squad. One of them, Reiata, was carrying the Banner of the 1st Company, next to him sat Apothecary Servenus, who was present at the Lange Fields massacre. To Mepesto's left was Veteran Sergeant Olav, a hero during the last battle with the traitors. Next to Olav, sat Gunner Hemitez, his bulky multi-melta making the drop-pod seem even smaller. Next to Hermitez sat Gunner Iuta, the glow from his plasma-gun casting eerie shadows. Then, there was the Company Champion, Mikal. Clad in incredibly ornate power armor, his combat shield was propped on his leg. The last three were new veterans, the trials and conflicts of the last weeks making even the most novice Marines experienced killers. They were Lioa, Naaman and Uriel.

"When does your duty end?" again shouted Mepesto. Sicarus had an unusually thick atmosphere, and the drop-assault would be taking an extra twenty seconds to reach the ground. Even though Mepesto had been in a dozen such assaults, the sheer amount of extra time was making him nervous. Enemy fighters or air defense guns could wipe out the companies before they had set foot on the unholy soil. But, so far, there was no ground fire. Maybe they were still too far above the ground to be hit, or maybe they still had the element of surprise. However, they had seen the taint Chaos had left on the planet, so they knew Bjorn was there, somewhere.

"In deaths cold embrace!" came the reply. The 1st Company at this point was comprised of about one hundred Space Marines, only at two-thirds strength for Warhawks Companies. The Third Company was at full strength, one-hundred and fifty Marines. Bjorn was said to have about one-hundred and thirty or so Traitor Marines, as well as un-numbered cultists and daemons at his disposal. It would be a hard battle, one that would be remembered forever by the Chapter, whether as another terrible tragedy, or as a day to be celebrated, was yet to be seen.

"What will be your reward?" Mepesto called again. The drop-pod was shaking violently now, the atmosphere getting thicker as they neared the ground. He could hear ground fire, shell-bursts and bullets whizzing past. Occasionally, a close shell-burst would throw the drop-pod violently, and then it would rock back again as the machine-spirit fought to keep the pod on course.

"The Knowledge I have done my duty!" the squad replied again. Brother Servenus was checking his narthecium and reductor one last time. He would need them in the coming battle more than ever. The other squad members were checking their weapons too, cycling chain-swords, or making sure their knives did not stick in their sheathes. The only one who was calm and still was Mikal. His face was rarely seen, he preferred to remain a steadfast beacon of courage and determination, rather than be thought of as a mere mortal.

"What will be your battle-cry?" Mepesto called again, his voice a clarion call over the shell bursts that were more frequent now, the drop-pods shaking almost constantly now. A moment ago, the red light came on, signaling that the drop-pod was one-hundred meters till impact. Calmly, Mepesto racked a round into his bolter and flipped on his lighting claw.

"Death Comes for You!" shouted the squad as the drop-pod hit the ground with a bone-jarring crash. As soon as the pod was on the ground, automated storm-bolters opened fire, hopefully killing anyone foolish enough to be near it. Then, the pod split open, and the restraints holding them in popped open. Instantly, they were under fire from an autocannon emplacement, sending chains of fire into the assembling Marines. "Brother-Sergeant Greavus, take the cannon!" An acknowledgement rune winked on his helmet-screen and the Tactical squad stormed forward. Spying a trench complex, Mepesto raised his arm and signaled a general advance. To his right, he could see Captain Loras, of the second company, following his part of the plan.

Sprinting forward and firing from the hip, Mepesto was at the fore of the advance, Brother Reiata at his side, the Standard held high. Greavus had taken the cannon by now; his squad turning it around and was firing it into the trenches, the cultists scrambling out to try and find shelter, only to be mowed down by the advanced Marines. With their own autocannon sending so many to their deaths, and an unstoppable advance to their fore, the cultists broke and ran. Calmly, Mepesto jumped over the trench and continued after the now retreating cultists. If Kylan and Loras finished their parts, the cultists would be broken and they could go after Bjorn.

One-hundred meters down the line, Chaplain Kylan was having more trouble. His part was to take two squads and a Dreadnought, flank around and trap as many of the cultists as possible. But, he was not facing ill-disciplined cultists, or even traitor guard, he was facing a moral threat. Daemons were guarding the flank. A score of armored daemons of the foul Blood-God counter-attacked as soon as Kylan's force came into view. Honored-Brother Gaustos had opened fire with his multi-melta and vaporized three before their charge hit home. Then, it was a chaotic fight, the unholy howls of the daemons mixing with prayers to the Emperor. Kylan was to one side, his crozius fizzing and sparking as the foul daemon blood splattered across it. The squads had formed a wedge behind Gaustos and his hydraulic power fist swung down over and over again, crushing daemons like they were children. Then, one jumped on the Dreadnoughts upper chest, his giant blood-stained axe craving great rents in the armor, until a Battle-Brother with a flamer burned the daemon off. Another daemon dived across the Dreadnoughts leg and speared Sergeant Hektor through the stomach with a gigantic sword.

A particularly scarred and ugly daemon swung an axe a Kylan, the unholy runes along the head of the axe making his eyes water. Snarling, Kylan tried to dodge aside, but the sword cut through his leg. Pain briefly exploded into his mind, but he shook it off and sliced across the daemons chest, the power-field on the crozius cutting through the daemons armor like it was parchment. The blow cut off the daemons left arm and slowly, the daemons head and shoulders slide back. Another of the foul daemons hurled themselves at Kylan, but the battle-hardened Chaplain fired his plasma pistol at the daemon, the burning ball of plasma immolating the daemon. None were left alive.

"Press on!" shouted Kylan, gesturing towards their objective, the one hill that was right in the middle of the cultists fall-back corridor. With the cry, "FOR THE EMPEROR," the Marines pressed on. A group of cultists were set on the front slope of the hill, and began firing their las-rifles into the advancing group. The red bolts smacked harmlessly against the Marines power armor, punching tiny dents. One Marine stumbled, a bolt passing through his knee. The Marine stood back up and resumed his advance. The Marines opened fire, punching the cultists off their feet with tight, disciplined fire, leaving none standing. Kylan did not have to direct his Marines any further, setting up half-way up the hill and began waiting for the retreating cultists.

On Loras's side of the fight, things were not going as planned. He and his company had at first been too eager to try and find the traitors, and had ignored the rules of engagement. They had not secured their flanks in their vengeful fury. Since their initial breakthrough, they had been ambushed by… things. The things looked like they had been Imperial citizens, until they closed with the Marine column. Then, the horror began. They were horrific mutants, with razor claws and acid blood. A dozen good Marines had died instantly, their bodies shredded beyond recognition. Then, one of the mutants exploded in a hail of shrapnel and a Dreadnought was destroyed in a ball of fire. Swift, disciplined bolter volleys had driven back the mutants, but the Company had learned their lesson. Now, frag grenades were thrown in every hole or were sealed with krak charges. But, that did not stop the Emperor-forsaken mutants. A hole opened up under the advancing Marines and a hundred attacked from the middle of the column. Two dozen Marines were killed before enough fire could be directed into the mass of unholy flesh. Another Dreadnought was destroyed, Honored-Brother Joran. He had stridden into the horde and over-loaded his power-generator to buy the rest of the Marines enough time. Even with these losses, Loras had finished his part, sealing the noose around the cultists.

"Pour it on, Brothers!" shouted Kylan as the waves of retreating cultists broke against the Marine hard-point. Honored-Brother Guastos was just behind the lines, the barrels on his multi-melta glowing red-hot as he fired shot after shot into the cultists. Some of the more disciplined cultists were trying to set up firing points and officers were trying to rally their men to make a fight out of it. Sergeant Chorak had put a stop to that by lobbing frag grenades at the officers. A dull roar alerted Kylan to the right flank. Three Rhinos and a Predator in Warhawks livery were speeding towards the fight, guns blazing. The Rhinos slewed to a halt, and three Tactical squads poured out. Now, the cultists were caught in a tight cross-fire. With nowhere to fall back to, the cultists still tried to rally. One particularly brave, or foolish, ran towards the Predator with a demolition charge grasped in his hands. He had gone almost ten meters before the Predator crew noticed him and the remote-controlled storm-bolter shredded his torso.

"Advance by squads!" ordered Kylan, waving his Marines forward with a sweep of his arm. Leap-froging forward, one squad would advance, while another put out covering fire. Then, the process would be repeated, with the squads switching roles. With minutes, the highly-disciplined tactic had finished off the cultist army.

After the cultists were wiped out, roving patrols of Scout bikers were immediately set out in every direction, looking for Bjorn, while vials of precious gene-seed were escorted to Battle Barges waiting in orbit and supplies ferried back down. It was an awesome sight. Chapter serfs were brought in to clear roads of dead and dig earthworks. The First Company had lost eight Marines, with another dozen wounded, while the Second Company lost thirty-five and another twenty wounded. However, there were still enough at hand to finish Bjorn once and for all.

Mepesto was in council with Loras, discussing possible tactics for eliminating Bjorn. Neither was quite seeing eye to eye.

"Well, why don't we call down an Exterminatus? That would remove the traitors with no further losses." Loras spoke angrily.

"But, he still may get away. If we lose him, all our dead will be for not.' Snapped Mepesto, 'besides, I want to burn his body and bring his severed head to the Council." Mepesto was inwardly furious, this upstart should be deferring to him!

"No!' yelled Loras, 'my company took huge losses from those damn mutants and I will not have my company be wiped out pursuing some bloody vendetta!"

"That bloody vendetta you speak of so rudely almost tore the Chapter apart!" Mepesto spat back, his blood rising, 'if you will not press on and finish this once and for all, my company will go on without you. But, you were so eager at first to find him, that's why you took all those losses."

"Yes, and that's why we should call down an Exterminatus, so no other foolhardy Captains will not pursue him and lose more Marines!" retorted Loras angrily.

"If we finish him now, no other Marines will be lost to this heresy. If you do not see this, I will kill you for heresy and sedition." Stated Mepesto calmly as he drew his storm-bolter and aimed it at Loras. He could not explain this action to the Council, and he would probably be executed if he had to kill Loras.

"You leave me with no choice." Loras said; a grateful smile on his face. Slowly, Mepesto slung his bolter and clasped forearms with Loras in a warriors bond. With that, a breathless Scout-Sergeant burst in. "We found them."

Chapter 4

The last Battle; Standing before the Council

"Captains, we have found the traitors here,' said Scout-Sergeant Oroka, gesturing at a circled area on the map, 'They have built in-depth defenses, which include two-hundred meters of razor-wire, inter mixed with mine fields. The main defenses appear to be stacks of corpses, three bodies thick. We could smell the place from three kilometers off, it hit us like a brick."

Mepesto nodded, already thinking of assault plans. They would encircle the traitors, the Third Company would be on the east and south, and the First would take the north and west. The attack would begin with a lengthy bombardment by Whirlwinds for twenty minutes, aiming to breach the razor-wire and mine fields. Then, a general attack would be lead by Dreadnoughts and Tactical Squads; he would be at the front. Rhinos from the Third Company will attack from the flanks and encircle the Traitors and then, the taint would be permanently removed. He was also going to relay instructions to the Battle Barge in orbit, that if they did not receive a coded transmission from him, they should virus bomb the planet and quarantine the system. Mepesto gritted his teeth; he would personally kill Bjorn Death-Hand and bring his severed head to the Council. Quickly, Mepesto told Loras his battle plan, and for a change, the Captain agreed with him.

The Whirlwinds were in firing position within hours. A dozen of the missile tanks were training their deadly cargo towards the traitor camp, but did not fire until the infantry and other tanks were in place. The camp was hidden behind a fair sized hill, but, there were no observation posts up there. Sighing, Mepesto merely thought the traitors were preparing a trap, but there was no other way to do this. Casualties did not matter now, only the death of every one of the traitor's mattered. His squads were deployed just behind the top of the hill, lying down in tall grass, the Dreadnoughts and Predators supporting them were further down the slope, ready to go. The Third Company Rhinos and Predators were hidden behind a large scrub of trees, their engines silent, but their anxious drivers had hands hovering over the engine starts and had sacred spanners ready in case the engines failed to start and the machine spirits needed a little encouragement.

At the prearranged time, the Whirlwinds firing, the missiles launching with a loud shriek, the Vengeance missiles streaking towards the enemy camp, not three hundred meters away. Dull explosions shook the ground, throwing up clouds of dust and smoke. Mepesto could not see if the Whirlwinds barrage had severed the razor-wire or set off the minefields, but secondary explosions told him that the minefields were gone, or at least a hole had been cut through them. The second wave of missiles launched, the missile exhaust blowing away mound of dust. This wave was aimed about thirty feet behind the previous one. The next wave would be aimed directly at the Traitor camp, hopefully killing some of the traitorous bastards. Within one minute, the barrage had ended, the Vengeance missiles spent.

Standing to his feet, Brother Reiata raising the Banner of the First at his side, Mepesto shouted, "Brothers, follow me and fight the good fight!" With that, he began his charge over the hill, his brothers shouting, "Death Comes for You" and following his lead. Behind them, the Dreadnoughts and Predators revved their engines and power-plants and followed the Marines, treads spinning or stomping forward on iron claws. On the flank, the armored thrust began, but would take several minutes to reach the traitors, even with the drivers flooring the gas and never touching the brakes. There would be blood and death, and some vengeance, oh yes.

Mepesto was over the top of the hill now, and he could see the missile barrage had cut a clear, one hundred meter wide path through the defenses, shell craters everywhere. The Traitors main barricade was severed also, the bodies comprising the wall scattered everywhere. But, the Traitor Marines had regained their senses and were manning hard points and dug-outs and sending swift, disciplined fire into the advancing Warhawks forces. One Predator, armed completely with las-cannons stopped and put the Emperors fire into the traitors, destroying one dug-out outright, and blasting apart one of the Traitor Predators that was hull-down, but facing the wrong way. A missile-launcher put a krak missile into the side of the Predator with an almighty clang and a plume of dust. When the dust settled, one side sponson was destroyed and the track was severed. A Dreadnought, Honored-Brother Gregoras, if Mepesto was not mistaken, stopped and slumped over, his right leg jammed from repeated auto-cannon impacts. This did not stop his plasma-cannon from firing, though, and he immolated a dozen of the foul traitors with boiling plasma. Brother Lioa died with his torso and legs shredded by heavy bolter impacts. Another Marine fell, his head vaporized by an auto-cannon shell. Mepesto could see Apothecary Servenus moving to collect the gene-seed, covered by the guns of an under-strength Tactical squad.

On the flank, the Third Company attack had been noticed, several Rhinos had been knocked out quickly by las-cannons, but the survivors of those tanks pressed on, on foot, vengeance in their eyes. Huge clouds of dust were being thrown up, which helped camouflage their movements. A Predator Destructor slowed, firing its turret mounted auto-cannon into a mass of the Traitors, blowing two apart in a shower of blood.

Mepesto was the first in the breach, storming forward with his command squad, spraying his storm bolter as he ran. Two Marines were killing, shredded in the massive cross-fire that the Traitors were spraying into the breach in their lines. A figure stood on the other end of the breach, and he made Mepesto's blood run cold with hate. The figure was clad in baroque black power armor, heads hooked to chains swung around his waist. Grafted to his right hand, a massive Thunder Hammer crackled with energy. His left was empty, but a plasma-pistol was holstered on that side. His helmet was coated in spikes, which looked more like part of his head then the helmet. His name, Bjorn Death-Hand, traitor and heretic.

"Bjorn Death-Hand,' Mepesto shouted over the din of the battle, 'You shall pay for your sins today, with your death!"

"Ha! You are a pathetic follower of the False Emperor and cannot hope to slay me!' his voice was deep and hateful, and made Mepesto feel unclean, 'I shall cut off your skull and drink your blood!" Bjorn cackled, and charged at Mepesto, three score of his followers running at his heel, trading shots with the onrushing Warhawks.

Mepesto stood his ground, waiting for the rest of the 1st Company to form up around him. He could fell the remnants of the company form a battle line to his sides, praying to the Emperor for strength and courage. Bjorn was close now; Mepesto could see dozens of skulls set into his once proud armor. Screaming, "For the Emperor," Mepesto counter-charged, pumping out a dozen or more shells at Bjorn, but all detonated prematurely. The traitorous bastard had some sort of custom field or something.

The two forces slammed into each other in the depths of a shell crater, shouting curses and oaths of vengeance. Mepesto meet Bjorn head on, the Imperiums finest, against one of the worst traitors alive. Mepesto stepped aside when Bjorn swung a massive, double-handed, downward blow with his hammer at him. He slashed his lighting claws across the traitor's chest, cutting four parallel gashes. Bjorn laughed again, and punched Mepesto in the face, shattering the left lens and blinding him in that eye. Snarling, Mepesto tore off his helmet and blocked the next blow, a right arc that left his arm numb. He stepped forward and thrust his claws straight at Bjorn's stomach, but Bjorn swatted away the blow, taking the opportunity to sweep Mepesto's legs out from under him. Mepesto landed heavily, and then frantically grabbed Bjorn's foot as he tried to crush his head. Then, Bjorn stepped back. Champion Mikal was there, slicing at Bjorn with great figure-eight strokes, forcing Bjorn on to the back foot. Another Chaos Marine charged at Mikal, swinging a morningstar. Mikal blocked the blows with his combat shield, but Bjorn counter-attacked, pulping the veteran Marines head with a gut-wrenching crack. Mepesto flipped onto his feet, blasting away with his storm bolter, dropping the Chaos Marine with the morningstar and putting numerous dents into Bjorn's armor. Chaplain Kylan jumped into the fray, swinging his Crozius at the Traitor, cutting through Bjorn's shoulder pad and severing the arm holding his Thunder Hammer. Mepesto stepped forward, pushed Kylan aside and took the traitors head off with one stroke of his glowing lightening claw.

Captain Loras knew nothing of this. Three minutes after the assault began, his Company crashed into the traitor barricade. He personally killed at least a score of the traitorous filth, gutting them on his ancient power-sword, and blasting them into oblivion with his plasma-pistol. Two of his command squad died, a traitor in terminator armor had cut them into pieces with a screaming chain-axe. A familiar figure jogged up to him. It was a bare-headed, bloodied Mepesto.

"Brother-Captain Loras! Bjorn has fallen! We have won the day!" Mepesto clasped Loras on the shoulder and held up the severed head of Bjorn Death-Hand. The fight was still on however, and Mepesto was having a bit of trouble with his depth-perception, but that would not stop him. He stopped a stopped downward slash with the back of his lightening claw and fired four bolts into the traitor Marine. Mepesto thought he knew the Marines name, but that did not matter. Movement towards the center of the traitor camp caught his attention. It was Brother Reiata, who was standing atop a pile of corpses, the dark green and red of the Warhawks intermixed with the blood red and black of the traitors. He was waving the Banner of the 1st Company.

After the day was won, the dead were counted. In the final battle alone, the 1st Company had lost twenty Marines, the Third, thirty brave Brothers had fallen. However, when the traitor bodies were counted to be burned, only one-hundred and fifteen were found, somewhere, twenty-five of the traitors still breathed. However, it was deemed, for morale and spiritual purposes, that the bulk of the Company, and indeed, the Chapter, would be told that every one of the traitors had been killed and the hunt would continue in secret.

Two days after the battle, Mepesto found himself standing before the Council chambers, a void-box in his hands. He was still getting use to his new bionic eye, which superimposed a targeting icon on his vision, but he liked it. It had been carried by twenty-five other Warhawks before him and had never failed them. He had no doubt the eye would out-last him and be implanted in another worthy of it. A Veteran, marked out by the gold and white trim of his armor opened the great doors the Chamber and motioned him in.

He had been in the Council chamber before, but it still awed him. It was a huge, vaulted room, covered in frescoes and carving of the Chapters greatest heroes. He was in one of the carvings, striding through daemon ranks at the Battle of Hell Gate, the Banner of the Second Company in his hands. Maybe he would have a second carving of him put up there, this time killing Bjorn Death-Hand. He shook the thought from his mind, pride was a sin.

"You bring news of Bjorn?" a deep metallic voice spoke. It was Chief Tech-Marine Geryon.

"Yes, Lords, I do." He strode up to the gigantic table that dominated the center of chamber and unsealed the void-box. The stench of death wafted throughout the room as Mepesto reached in and pulled out the head of Bjorn Death-Hand by his lanky, greasy hair and held it up, for all the Council to see.

Silence filled the room, broken only by the whirl of armor-servos or the wheeze of augmetic lungs. No one wanted to speak. For long minutes, the silence dragged on, Mepesto still holding the severed head of the traitor, which spun slowly one way, then the next, blood still dripping from its neck to land, sizzling, on the great marble table..

"Is that Bjorn?" Chaplain Plutus spoke, his voce, usually booming, was a harsh whisper, as if he was afraid of voicing those words.

"Yes. I told you all, almost one year ago; I would bring you the head of Bjorn Death-Hand or die trying. All of you told me Bjorn was nowhere to be found and set harsh conditions for my vengeance-quest. Do you remember what they were?' Mepesto's voice was dark and angry, 'You said that whatever company I commanded could not recruit until I brought you the head of Bjorn. Even with reinforcements from the reserve companies, my company is down to seventy Marines. Seventy! I should have one-hundred and fifty!" His voice rose to yell, echoing in the mighty chamber.

"Calm yourself, Captain.' Spoke up Master Apothecary Minos, 'now that you have brought us the head of Bjorn, you can recruit again. But, do you see what we commanded that you could not recruit?"

"No, I do not. I thought it was because you wanted me to find Bjorn and not have the strength to kill him, so you could bring in your companies and take the credit."

"Not at all, Captain. Because Bjorn turned to worship chaos, we were afraid that another Captain could be turned. If that Captain was in command of a full company of Space Marines, it would be a greater blow to the Imperium. Do you see now?"

"Yes, Lords, I do." Except, he was still angry, he would rather the Council admit they wanted this victory, not say that they were afraid another Captain would fall to the Chaos powers.

Chapter 5

Recruitment

Mepesto stepped off the Thunderhawk ramp on the sifting desert sand of the world of Lorn. This world had yield numerous clutches of hardy, tough initiates for the First Company in the past and Mepesto felt this world was as good as any to begin recruiting for the Company again. Glancing up at the twin suns that perpetually baked this dry world, he walked on, towards the waiting party, behind him, Apothecary Servenus, Sergeant Olav and Brothers Lucius and Ageiamann followed in tight parade formation.

The people of Lorn were nomadic; following a migration pattern that coincided with the coolest temperature ranges and where watering-holes could be located. They were organized in a rigid tribal system, where only the bravest and intelligent warriors could gain rank. The climate itself fostered this system; dozens of predatory and dangerous animals have been recorded by the Adeptus Mechanicus Biologis and only the toughest survived to manhood. Company archives told of almost constant warring between the tribes, over water, food or a shady spot. Technology base was minimal, most modern weapons malfunctioning after a few days in the viscous climate and the tribesmen used bows and spears to hunt. It was a good world to recruit Space Marines.

A heavily tanned and muscular man was at the fore of the party, comprised of about two dozen armed men, also heavily tanned and muscular. Bending down on one knee, the chieftain pressed his hands into the sand in the shape of a double-headed eagle. He spoke not a word.

Mepesto bent down also and pressed his gauntleted hands into the sand in the shape of the double-eagle. In documents in the Company Librarium, this practice had been recorded numerous times; supposedly, the custom was to identify those who worshipped the Emperor and those who didn't. Local legend had it that those who did not venerate the Emperor who be burned to death by the very sand they pressed their hands into.

"Lords from the stars!' exclaim the chieftain, 'I am called Meanath. My father's father was the last man to speak to the messengers from the Emperor and I am honored to speak with you. Are you here to take more of our youths to serve in the Emperors great army?" The chieftain's voice was excited, but respectful, his eyes glowing.

"Yes, honored one, we are here to select your youths for service in the Emperors army." Mepesto responded after a moments thought.

"Then, follow me." The Chieftain beckoned and the Marines fell in behind Meanath and his retinue of warriors. The tribesmen lead them through their tented village, which was lined with the eager and excited faces of women and younger children, but the warriors watched with guarded eyes, wary of treachery. The procession slowly wound up a steep path, to end at the top of a sun-baked plateau, which was about a kilometer in length, atop of which stood a group of twenty-five boys, approximately twelve to fourteen Terrian years of age. Behind the group of boys, various weapons and other bric-a-brac stood, propped up against an over-sized stone bench. The chieftain motioned the Space Marines to take a seat. The stone creaked in an ominous way when the five Marines sat, but it held firm.

Clapping his hands, the chieftain called out, "We shall first show how are boys are as fast as the red-scorpion and have the endurance of the sand-spider!"

The youths lined up at one end of the plateau and the warriors split into two groups, one standing on each end of the plateau. The chieftain still stood next to the Marines, but with a bow and a flaming arrow notched. Drawing the bow, the chieftain let the arrow fly across the sky.

At that signal, the boys burst in a run, their sandaled feet pumping and kicking up plumes of sand. One short, blond boy broke ahead after one-hundred and seventy meters, barely breathing hard. For seven minutes and six-hundred meters, the blonde boy was ahead. Nearing the first group of warriors, the boy stumbled, obviously cramping seriously. Falling behind, the blonde boy ran on, but further behind in the group. The twelve warriors had short poles in their hands, about the size of an axe handle and the first twelve boys grabbed up poles and began running back across the kilometer long plateau.

Another boy took to the lead, a pole clasp in one of his hands. He was taller, and also blonde, but apparently been saving his strength for the return trip. The group of boys spread out more, but nearing the last group of warriors, those without poles sprinted ahead, pushing and striking at each other, trying to get one of the poles. After all the poles had been taken, those without were sent back down the plateau, to the calls of derision from the tribesmen below. Eighteen were left and these jogged back over to stand, chests heaving and limbs twitching, in front of the Space Marines.

With a nod from Mepesto, the chieftain continued, again clapping his hands, "Now, we shall show you how our youths have the strength of the fire-beetle!"

With the chieftain's words, the warriors brought out five rocks, varying in size, arranged from the smallest, about the size of a las-cannon power-pack, to the largest, the size of a power-armor shoulder guard.

The first youth, the long-limbed boy, strode over to the first rock, and hefted it about his head with barely a grunt of effort. Then, the next boy, until every boy had lifted the first rock. The second rock also passed with no youths being eliminated. On the third rock, a boy dropped the rock as he held it above his head. He was killed instantly, and the warriors dragged his corpse away. Every other boy successfully hefted the third rock, but some with arms and legs trembling and sweat pouring from their bodies. On the fourth rock, the long-limbed boy once again managed to lift the rock above his head, but his arms were shaking and his face redder. The boy just after him got the rock above his head, but dropped it when he was putting it down, crushing his foot to a bloody pulp. He was dragged away screaming in agony, leaving a blood trail. Another boy, later in the line, could not lift the rock at all, and he walked away with his head bowed in shame. Two more youths could not pick up the second rock, and thirteen were left for the fifth rock. The long-limbed youth once again lifted the rock, but his arms shook as he held the rock over his head. Seven more boys managed to lift the rock. Eight were left.

His voice serious, the chieftain spoke again, "Now, we shall show you why are youths are worthy to fight for the Emperor above the stars."

The warriors gave each of the boys a short, stabbing spear and a shield. The eight formed a circle and held their weapons at the ready, waiting approval. With a nod from the chieftain, the fight began.

The long-limbed boy drew back, hunched over, protecting himself and watching. One of the youths was almost immediately removed; he had been stabbed in the back by a short, rangy boy. Two of the boys stood back to back, guarding each other. The long-limbed boy waited until one of those boys dropped his guard and struck, stabbing his spear through the boy's throat. Blood frothing from his throat, the boy fell to the sand. The other boy was also killed by the long-limbed boy, stabbed through his back, the spear punching out his stomach. The other boys had broken into groups, one on one. All had cuts and slashes. The long-limbed boy was hanging back again, until a boy was stabbed through the leg. Pouncing like a tiger, the long-limbed boy finished him with a stab between the shoulder-blades.

Standing up, Mepesto said, "Enough. Your youths have proven their worth and we shall take them and perform the last test upon them in secret.' Mepesto turned and bowed to the chieftain, saying, 'Thank you for providing these fine warriors for the Emperors army. We shall look forward to visiting your tribe in the future when the need arises."

Bowing in return, the chieftain spoke, "Thank you, Lords. You honor our tribe by selecting these warriors."

Walking back through the tent-village, which was in a flurry of activity as the tribesmen were packing up, to begin another migration across the desert. There were no cheers this time, the Space Marines and their charges walked along in silence. Mepesto fell back, to speak to the long-limbed boy that had proven himself so worthy.

"What is your name, boy?"

"Hemat, my Lord. I have hunted for seven circles of the suns. My Lord, if I may ask, what is the final test we must overcome to join the Emperors army?" Hemat's voice was inquisitive, his eyes bright.

Mepesto glanced back and noticed that all the other youths were looking at him, waiting for the Captain to answer the question that was on all their minds.

Apothecary Servenus spoke, "The test is of two parts. The first part is to determine if the fiber of your body can accept the many implants that a Space Marine must have. The second test is conducted by Chaplain Kylan, and he will test your faith in the God-Emperor. Do you understand?"

Hemat was silent for a moment, taking in what Servenus had just told him. He at last spoke.

"In a way, I do understand."

Veteran Sergeant Olav spoke next, his voice gruff, "Even if you pass this test, there is still no guarantee that you will survive the harsh training that every Space Marine must go through." Due to his seniority, Sergeant Olav was the Training Sergeant.

Inside the Thunderhawk bay, Mepesto gestured for the boys to sit on the padded benches. Looking around in awe, the boys sat on the benches and the Space Marines buckled them in tightly, checking the straps twice before signaling to the serf-pilot that they were ready to go.

As the Thunderhawk's engines began to warm up and the gun-ship took off, Mepesto questioned the youths.

"What are your names?"

The boy right across from him spoke first, "I am called Asfestan, Lord."

The short, wiry boy spoke next, his eyes fierce, "I am known as Korepth."

The boy to the left of Hemat spoke, "I am Lucius. My father's brother was taken to be a warrior of the Emperor and I am named after him."

The last boy spoke, his voice shaking as he looked out a porthole at the rapidly receding ground, "I am called Joresh."

"Calm yourself Joresh. We are going up to the battle-barge in orbit. There, you will not be able to see solid ground."

The boy nodded, but his eyes were still fearful and he shook every time the Thunderhawk jolted or dropped from a thermal. He might not be able to survive the culture shock, thought Mepesto, but he would still serve the Chapter, as a serf or a servitor and be able to watch his comrades grow to full-fledged Marines.

Mepesto spoke again, trying to take the boys minds off the Thunderhawk shaking, "Those of you who pass the final test will receive new names, your names in the army of the Emperor." This practice had useful effect; first, it removed their past identities from them, and second, it gave them new identities in the Chapter.

Aboard the battle-barge, Servenus and Mepesto had led the youths to the Apothecarion. Turning to face them, Servenus asked, "Which of you shall be first to under take this test?"

Hemat stepped forward, his fists balled at his sides, "I shall be the first."

Nodding his head, Servenus brought the boy to a metal examination table that had blood grooves running the sides and directed the boy to lie down. Mepesto removed his helmet and placed his hand on the boy's chest, speaking, "Look into my eyes. Do not look at what the Apothecary is doing."

Hemat took his eyes off the Apothecary, who had raised a strange, spider-like instrument with numerous blades coming off its belly and looked into Mepesto's. The Captains face was rugged, a scar running around his left eye where the augmentic one had been placed. On his brow, three golden service studs were set, to mark three hundred years in the Chapters service. Servenus locked the instruments legs onto the table and he fiddled with controls on it for a moment. With a whirl, the instruments blades punched through the boy's stomach, slicing through the muscle-wall and taking blood, cell and other samples from him. Hemat was shrieking and his arms twitching, but his eyes never left Mepesto's. With another whirl, the blades retracted, and another tool sealed the wounds in the boy's intestines and cauterized his stomach wall.

Unlocking the instruments legs from the table, Servenus read off the information the tool told him.

"Blood sample, normal. No genetic diseases and tissue within .03 of acceptable limits. Approximately thirteen Terran years of age. In other words, he is physically perfect." The Apothecary nodded at Mepesto, who removed his hand from the boy and left him stand up. Hemat was huddled over, clutching his stomach, but as the pain eased, he looked up at Mepesto.

"Go with Chaplain Kylan." Mepesto commanded. The Chaplain had entered will the boy was being tested and no one had noticed him until Mepesto spoke. The Chaplains black armor, with golden bones decorating the greaves and chest, and his silver rictus-mask, was an intimidating sight.

Kylan led the boy to the Main Chapel, not saying a word. At the fore of the Chapel stood a four meter tall statue of the Emperor, and a statue of Robute Guilliman, the Chapters Primarch. Kylan knelt in front of the statues and Hemat did the same.

Kylan was the first to speak.

"What is faith?"

Hemat thought for a moment, then spoke, "Faith is the belief in something, or someone, that you have only been told about, or read about and have never seen for your own eyes."

"Give an example of faith."

Again, Hemat thought for a moment, "Our faith in the God-Emperor. Few have seen Him, yet we still believe He is there, watching over us and guiding our actions."

"When is faith its purest?"

"When it is unquestioned." Hemat finished the proverb quickly.

"What would you do if someone questioned your faith?"

Unhesitantly, Hemat answered, "I would kill him and any that followed his banner, for they question the Emperor."

Inside his rictus-mask, Kylan smiled. These were good answers. Standing up, he told Hemat, "You have passed the final test. Let us go and tell Captain Mepesto."

Book 2

Sergeant Erasmus

Chapter 1

Sneaking snipers; Rescue; Promotion; Wargear rites

Crouching, he bolted from the doorway to dive into cover behind a ruined wall. Breathing hard, he looked over the wall and spied the enemy moving up the street towards him. Ducking back down, he pulled a grenade from his belt and pulled the pin, holding the spoon tight though. As the enemy closed, he hurled the grenade into their midst. A dozen voices shouted in alarm, before the explosion drowned out their cries. Bits of viscera and blood rained down for a moment, but stopped just as soon. However, the grenade did not go unnoticed, as he was pulling a bit of intestine off his helmet; a snipers bullet went through his hand. But, he did not scream in pain. Instead, he stood to a half-crouch and dived into a shell crater with half of a Guardsman still in it. Peeking over the rim of the crater, he slowly and carefully scanned the shattered skyline of the city. Not a shadow. Sliding back down, he grabbed the torso of the dead guardsmen and pushed it up so the head was above the crater. Another shot rang out, the dead guardsmen head blew off, but he saw where the sniper was. He was two hundred meters south, in the shadow of a ruined manufactorum. Drawing his pistol, he fired off a pair of shots and bolted out, running towards a burned out Chimera ten meters away. As he ran, the sniper fired again, this time the bullet glancing off one of his greaves. The impact caused him to drop, but he rolled into a ditch as another bullet impacted into the ground next to his head. The ditch was half filled with blood and the red made the dark green of his armor seemed darker. Crawling forward through the ditch, wondering if any bullets would find their mark in his body, he got to about where the burned Chimera was before he rose again, blood dripping off his armor and sprinted to get into cover behind the Chimera. Glancing through a hole in the armor, he could no longer see the sniper. Damn that bastard, he thought, the sniper knew to move after shots. Another shot rang out, this one punching a hole in his foot. Gritting his teeth, he bolted towards a shell-pocked apartment, firing bolts randomly to cover his movement.

The door of the apartment was closed, but he shouldered his armored torso through it and crashed through into a crowd of traitors. Snarling, he drew his knife and stabbed into the closed traitor's stomach, the traitor's hot blood making his hand wound burn. He pumped a dozen bolts into the crowd, the mass-reactive bolts blasting huge holes into those hit, the holes revealing blackened hearts and lungs. His pistol then ran empty, the hammer clicking home on an empty chamber. With a shout, he dragged his knife free and slashed it down, splitting a traitor guard's head open, thick blood spurting out, splattering the wall. Then, he slashed across and slit open two throats to the bone, the traitor's heads rolled back. With that, this particular fight ended. Running through the apartment, he reloaded his pistol and sprinted up the stairs, until he reached the upper floor. This floor had had a shell land on it, vaporizing most of the roof and part of one wall. Keeping in the shadows, he crouched and carefully watched for any sign of the sniper, like the glint of a scope, or movement.

For one hour, he remained motionless, waiting for the sniper to show himself. There! A quick, darting shadow, about thirty meters away, then nothing. Another quick moving shadow, this time twenty-five or so meters away, then nothing, a shattered building in his line of sight. Slowly, the sniper was working his towards the apartment, possibly to take up position in the same spot he was in, or if the sniper had seen him, to investigate. As the sniper neared, he readied his bolt pistol, waiting for the sniper to make the last final, fatal sprint to the apartment. There! The sniper was sprinting towards the apartment. The sniper was tall, clad in the dark camouflage of the traitor guard units, a sniper pattern auto-gun grasped in his hands. Calmly, he fired three bolts into the sniper, the bolts exploding in his chest, blowing him wide open, like a surgeon's puppet.

Sighing in resignation, he moved the other side of the apartment, in case another sniper had seen him. He crouched there for several minutes, watching the seething chaos of a city at war, flashes of fire, intermixed with explosions, and bright gouts of flame. For the first time in three days, he thought about why he was there. He was Scout-Sergeant Erasmus Harkon, of the Warhawks Chapter. He normally commanded ten Scout-Brothers, but the traitor guard had counter-attacked and wiped out his squad. To add insult the grievous blow of losing his entire squad, he had been cut off from the rest of the Warhawks forces. Then, a massive artillery bombardment from the Imperial Guard in the area had forced him to flee further into the enemy area. So, for three days, he had been waylaying enemy forces, or setting traps and the like, but his ammunition was running low, and he was no where nearer to the rest of the Chapter now then when he had been separated. To top it off, his com-link was being jammed, so he couldn't even contact his Brothers. But, like any true Space Marine, he was prepared to sell his life as dearly as possible, especially since the noose was tightening around him. Yesterday, four snipers had been sent to kill him, and this one was the last one. On one of their corpses, he had found a mass of papers, but they had been written in the enemies' gibberish of a language. The papers were probably detailing his whereabouts and to kill him on sight.

Shaking off the trance, Erasmus climbed out of the apartment and quickly looted the snipers body. Nothing but auto-gun ammo, food and more papers with more gibberish. Looking at the mans face, Erasmus noticed he was hideous; his face scared hundreds of times in intricate patterns. The scars were old and faded, but still deep. The enemies of the Emperor are many and varied, thought Erasmus, but we still fight them. The light was fading now, but to his auto-senses it was still as clear was day. Before he had been cut off, the Warhawks lines were to the south, so Erasmus set off in that direction, staying out of sight as much as possible. The stamp of booted feet to his left caused him to drop to his stomach behind ruined wall. Peeking through a shell-hole, he observed at least four dozen guardsmen marching in parade formation heading south. The guardsmen were in the uniforms of the Carthion Ninth, the first guard unit on the planet to turn traitor. Erasmus's heart burned with righteous fury as the unit marched by, but he held himself back. There was no point in dying in some futile fight.

Erasmus remained in cover until the traitors marched by, then, he picked himself up and continued on his way, knife sheathed but pistol at the ready. Suddenly, through the smoke to his front, an armor form stepped forward. Cursing, Erasmus silently ducked into cover behind barricade. Glancing over it, he watched as the spike-encrusted Traitor Marine strode through the smoke, his bolter at the ready. Praying to the Emperor that the Marine didn't see him, Erasmus ducked back down. Because he wasn't a full Battle-Brother, he could not take down the Traitor. Glancing back up, he saw the Traitor had been joined by another two, one with a flamer. The head of the one with the flamer blew apart, his brains splattering a dozen meters. The other two spun, but before they could return fire at their unknown enemy, they were struck by a dozen bolts, the mass reactive shells blowing huge holes in their flesh, their blackened blood pooling around their shattered bodies. From the smoke, a dozen Marines stepped into sight, in the green and red armor of the Warhawks, the 1st Company symbol on their shoulders.

Rising to his feet, Erasmus called out, "Brothers, do not shoot!" The Marines spun towards him, bolters at the ready, but they evidently recognized him and did not fire. Running towards them, Erasmus raised his hands and said again, "Do not shoot me, my Brothers." One of the Marines, with a chainsword said, "Are you Scout-Sergeant Erasmus Harkon?" The Marines aim did not falter, for any number of alien or Traitorous things could have taken control of his body. Erasmus nodded, "Yes Brother-Sergeant."

The Sergeant lowered his pistol and said, "Captain Mepesto sent us to find you. He wants to see you."

With trepidation, Erasmus stood at attention in front of Captain Mepesto. The Captain was fully armored, his ancient artificer armor scarred and pitted in a dozen places by the recent fighting. The Captain was standing the lee of his Land Raider Crusader, his Command Squad mounting. "Sergeant Erasmus, I was sorry to hear of the loss of your entire squad. But, as I understand it, you fought on.' Erasmus nodded, but Mepesto seemed not to notice. 'Since that time, you have managed to show your courage countless times over the last several days. For this, I have decided to promote you to a full Battle-Brother. You will have the Black Carapace implanted tomorrow and when you have recovered, you will be gifted with your power armor. Because of the exception leadership you have shown over your career, you will be immediately given Squad Lazagrus. Lazagrus was killed in the bombardment that cut you off from us. That is all." With that, Mepesto turned away and mounted his Land Raider.

An Apothecary walked up to Erasmus and said, "I shall be implanting your Black Carapace. Please follow me."

In the Land Raider, Mepesto sat silently next to Sergeant Tirus, who was Olav's replacement since Olav had been promoted to training sergeant, and buckled the restraining harness across his torso. No one spoke. They all knew where they were going and need to ask no questions. Mepesto had found information that the traitors were on the planet and the Land Raider was taking them to; hopefully, finish the traitorous bastards once and for all. Fifteen minutes later, the Land Raider was joined by two Rhinos and a Predator. The Rhinos contained Veteran Squads Ageimann and Cossos, both of which had been sworn to secrecy, the Predator crew also. No one could know about this mission.

The traitor location had been determined to be at a vital bridge-head overlooking the river Tirruse, which bisected the city. They would strike, under the guise of taking the bridge, and eliminate the traitors. The force would then withdraw and signal the Imperial Guard that orbital survey detected there was no strong enemy presence there. Hopefully, it would be quick and clean, and all the traitors would be killed. Hopefully.

Mepesto took off his harness and stepped into the driver's compartment of the venerable Land Raider. The Marine driver looked over at Mepesto, and said, "We are two kilometers away, sir."

The Captain nodded and returned, "We shall lead. Tell the Predator driver to take the left flank and have the Rhinos between us. Watch for any armor they have. Praise the Emperor."

"Praise the Emperor, Captain."

Mepesto returned to his seat and re-harnessed himself in. Whispering the Litany of Hate to himself, he loaded his storm-bolter and checked his lightening claw. Seeing what he was doing, the other members of the squad prepared themselves. Brother Reiata and Brother Diocleice, the new company Champion, were calm and quiet, silently checking their weapons and gear. Servenus checked and rechecked his reductor, and Gunner Hemitez checked the feed coils for his multi-melta and Gunner Iuta carefully re-screwed the hydrogen flasks of his plasma-gun.

"We are five-hundred meters away and closing," came the driver over the vox-link, his voice terse. The heavily armored tank shuddered and lurched suddenly, a missile had struck the left side, glancing off the thick armor plate. Slewing to a halt, the Land Raider opened fire, the hurricane bolters mounted on the side opening fire at a foe Mepesto could not see. With a shriek, the twin assault cannons on the front opened fire, hundreds of shell-casings spinning out, again firing at a foe Mepesto could not see. With a hiss, the front ramp opened and the sounds of battle roared in.

His trained ear heard the heavy _zipp_ of las-cannons, and the sharp crack-boom of bolters, the roar of flamers, and the shriek of plasma-guns. Watching the muzzle-flashes from the defenses on the bridge, Mepesto counted at least seventy las-weapons, and a dozen or so bolt weapons, made distinctive by the tiny trail the bolts left in the air.

The Land Raider had stopped about one-hundred meters shy of the bridge and Mepesto could see squad Cossos pushing up the left flank, supported by the Predator. Glancing to the right flank, squad Ageimann was advancing more cautiously, their Rhino had thrown a track on a tank-trap, but the driver had managed to get the vehicle off the concrete trap and was trying to fix the track links.

Firing a burst from his bolter, Mepesto ran forward into cover behind a burned out Chimera, his squad following behind. Brother Reiata had the company standard out, and was waving proudly. The banner-bearers right hand was encased in a golden power-fist, its destructive energy turned off, but with a thought, it could be sheathed in a crackling power-field. Gunner Iuta raised his plasma-gun and fired a stream of energy over the top of the Chimera. The rest of the squad ran forward under his fire to reach the next, a rock outcropping, where Cossos and Ageimann were both waiting.

Mepesto dropped down, with his back to the outcropping and waited for Iuta to rejoin them. Servos whining, the Marine ran into cover with the rest of the force. Pulling frag grenades from the dispenser on his belt, Mepesto nodded for the others to do the same. As one, the thirty Marines lobbed the grenades up towards the traitor defenses. Dozens of voices shouted in alarm before the grenades went off with a crumpling series of explosions. Mepesto stood and shouted, "Do you want to live forever?" as he ran forward, firing his storm-bolter into the reeling rebel guardsmen. The traitor Marines were falling back across the bridge.

"Cossos, take the traitors!" Mepesto commanded and an acknowledge run flashed on his retinal display. Mepesto kicked the first rebel square in the face, shattered the mans jaw and cheek bones and leaving him gurgling blood at the bottom of a trench. Another rebel stabbed at him with a bayonet, but Mepesto turned the blow aside with his lightening claw and fired a bolt into the rebel's stomach, the bolt almost cutting the rebel in half. Next to him, Brother Diocleise cut two rebels down with one sweep of his power sword.

Two Days later on the Battle Barge _Wraith of the Emperor_…

Erasmus was in deep prayer, his body aching after his surgery. His skin was raw, the pigment several shades darker from the Carapace. His power armor was assembled in front of him, and he had been anointing it with oils and holy water for several hours and now was praying to the Spirit of the armor to accept him as its new bearer. It was a solemn ceremony, and even more solemn was the ceremony he was going to conduct on the bolter and chainsword he had been given. When he finished with his prayer, Erasmus slowly and carefully put on his armor, starting with the greaves and working his way to his snarl-nosed helmet. With a hiss, he sealed the helmet. Instantly, his retinal-display came on, every thing working perfectly. Calmly, he moved over to his bolter, which was resting on a nalwood rack. Kneeling in front of the weapon, he slowly and carefully disassembled the bolter, cleaning each and every piece, praying to the Weapon Spirit for acceptance to wield the weapon in battle. Then, he assembled the weapon and slammed home a magazine. With a deft move, he cocked the weapon and walked to the armory to test the bolter and see if the ancient Weapon Spirit had accepted him and would not malfunction. Breathing deeply, he stepped up to the firing line and firing two bolts, the weapons report echoing in the empty space. The Master-Techmarine had cleared the entire armory for this ceremony. The weapon did not jam and Erasmus fired anther five bolts, the shell-casings clattering to the steel floor. Again, Erasmus fired, this time firing the rest of the magazine in one long burst, the tongue of flame a half meter long. Erasmus swapped magazines and repeated the firing ritual. Satisfied, Erasmus walked back to his chamber and began to consecrate the holy chainsword he had been given.

Chapter 2

Prayers; Beginning the counter-attack; Objective taken

Breathing deeply, Erasmus inspected his assembled squad. They had been training together for three days, with Erasmus getting to know each of his Marines and how to develop tactics for their special weapons, Gunner Olas carried a plasma-gun and Gunner Morenas carried a flamer. They were a well-trained unit, and had accepted their new Sergeant with no rancor. They had just finished morning firing rites and were about to rejoin the rest of the Company fighting to reclaim the city. Erasmus could find nothing wrong with the squad, their weapons clean and their spirits high.

They were assembling with several other squads and support tanks for a big push into the rebel lines and Chaplain Kylan was about to begin his pre-battle sermon. Hurriedly, several tech-marines and their attendant servitors were raising the Machine Spirits of the tanks with their fiery chants and smacking the controls with their sacred spanners. Then, everyone fell silent. Kylan strode to the fore of the assembled Marines and raised his Crozius, shouting, "KNEEL!"

With a crash, the seventy power armor knees hit the rockcrete road. Everyone was in silent prayer for a minute. Erasmus was privately praying for guidance from the Emperor to fulfill his new assignment with the same kind of courage and discipline that he had when he was behind the rebel lines.

"With the bolter, purge the Unclean." began Kylan, his booming voice echoing across the Marine lines.

"We will purge!" came the reply from the thirty-five Space Marines assembled.

"With the flamer, burn the heretic." Continued Kylan, Erasmus had only fought along side the Chaplain twice before, and never as a full Battle-Brother.

"We will burn!" came the cry, Erasmus's voice among them.

"We the plasma-gun, kill the traitor." Kylan stated. Erasmus could feel his spirit soaring with righteous sense of duty.

"We will kill!" shouted the Space Marines; their deep voices making the ground shake.

"With the melta-gun, annihilate the daemon." Again came Kylan, who was screwing fresh hydrogen-flasks into his plasma-pistol.

"We will annihilate!" again replied the Marines, who were finishing their own pre-battle checks.

"With the las-cannon, destroy the foul." Kylan prayed again, raising his Crozius to the sky again.

"We will destroy!" the Marines replied the Marines, the tanks were idling now, their drivers heads sticking out above the hatches.

"With the chain-sword, rend the pysker." Kylan finished.

"We will rend!" shouted the Marines, pounding their fists to their chests.

"Attention, Marines. You all know your objectives, so it would be pointless for me to tell you those again. However, I expect you all to fight with courage and honor, as any Space Marine should. I will, as always, be at the fore of the fighting with you. Move to your assembly areas and wait."

From the rear, the detachment moved two-hundred meters forward, to the assembly area at an abandoned space-port, the gigantic docking clamps and rusted blast-shields concealed the Marines movement quite nicely. Within minutes, the squads were crouched behind the rockcrete clamps or leaning against blackened and rusty shields.

A voice crackled across the vox-link in Erasmus's, and indeed, very Marines ear. "For the Emperor, bring the fight to them!" It was Chaplain Kylan

Erasmus broke into a run, his squad following behind him. His objective was to take the very same building he had been in when he had killed the last sniper. On his left flank was Sergeant Noras, the glow of his plasma-pistol casting strange glows on the hard-bitten Sergeants face. On his right flank were Sergeant Topes and his Veteran Squad, the gold on their shoulder guards glinting in the pre-dawn light. Next to Topes was Honored-Brother Morees, his las-cannons were silent now, but would soon be spitting death and destruction.

At first, the assault was unnoticed, the rebels eating breakfast or still asleep. But, the rumble of the armor alerted the sentries. Erasmus spotted a rebel's head sticking out over a barricade and he fired several shots at him, the bolts going through the barricade and hurling his body a dozen meters. The incoming fire had intensified, a las-bolt scoring off his chest-plate and burning a furrow in the fresh paint. Next to Erasmus, Gunner Olas fired his plasma-gun, the plasma-cells whining as they recharged. Down range, a half meter section of the barricade disappeared, the four rebels behind it were vaporized, their bodies reduced to a fine ash which scattered into the wind. Dozens of las-bolts were shrieking towards the Marines now, two Brothers going down, but one, Brother Feygor, stood back up, his armor wheezing from a ruptured power-line. Erasmus fired again, blowing two rebels apart, their bodies shredded by half a dozen bolts.

Squad Erasmus was the first to reach the rebel barricades, and Brother Morenas's flamer sending gouts of purifying flame into the rebels. Erasmus had his chainsword out, the teeth singing in the cold morning air. As he vaulted over the barricades, he brought it down into a rebel, his body brutally bisected, the organs at first neatly cut in half, then slipping out into a steaming pile of offal. The fighting was close and brutal, with most of the squad slashing about them with knives, or clubbing the enemy down with bolter stocks. Except for, of course, Brother Morenas, who burned holes in the rebels lines with his flamer. Several of the rebels turned and ran, burning like torches, only to cut down by the bolters of Squad Noras. A giant of a man stood in front of Erasmus, a power fist crudely grafted onto one of his arms. The fist came down, but Erasmus danced back, the fist vaporizing a two foot section of the rockcrete road. Screaming, "Death Comes for You!" Erasmus stabbed his chainsword into the mans stomach. The blade went straight through the mans spine, the teeth chewing a massive rend in him, but he did not fall. The rebel back-handed Erasmus in the face, the power fist crushing part of his helmet and breaking his jaw. Erasmus reeled, his chainsword forgotten in the rebel's stomach. A dozen warning runes were flashing on his display, but his body pumped hormones and pain-killers into his system and counter-acted the pain that would have crippled a normal man. The rebel calmly pulled the chainsword out of his stomach and dropped it to the ground. He had a massive two-foot hole in his stomach and Erasmus could see out the other side. Erasmus dodged another ponderous swing, but the fist vaporized the head of another Space Marine who was already engaged. Cursing, Erasmus drew his bolter and pumped a dozen shells into the rebel's torso, blowing him apart. The rebel's legs and shattered torso stood for a moment then fell to the ground. Shaking his head, Erasmus picked up his chainsword and thrust it into the air. With the lines broken, they could move onto the objective. A white-armor Apothecary was instantly there, punching the reductor through the Marines chest and withdrawing the precious gene-seed there. The Apothecary turned to Erasmus and said, "Brother, do you require aide?" Erasmus shook his head.

Turning back to his squad, now down to eight battered Marines, he said slowly, his broken jaw aching, "Move on to the objective, Brothers." The Marines cheered, and Erasmus joined them as they moved up with the other squads. The squad was loosely grouped, covering every possible angle of attack. His jaw as healing rapidly, but the crushed part of his helmet was causing it to set wrong and Erasmus wrenched it off and hooked the battered thing to his belt. Suddenly, the sounds of the raging battle hit him. Gun-fire, screams, battle-cries, explosions, the sweetest music in the entire universe. The shattered house loomed on the horizon, even more battered by the Space Marine attack. Groups of rebels stood in their way, but swift, disciplined bolter fire cut them down, or gouts of flame burned them to ash.

The house, which Erasmus had so easily entered not a week ago, was now a strong-point, with dozens of rebels defending the windows and doors, and several auto-cannons and heavy bolters at various points. His squad dived into cover just as the defenders opened fire, sending plumes of dirt erupting and cutting down two members of Squad Topes. It almost looked like the attacked would halt there, pinned down under fire. Erasmus and his squad were sheltered behind a shattered wall, which was rapidly disintegrating under the intense fire. Brother Olas had his plasma gun propped up in a hole in the wall, and was sending blasts of purifying plasma into the rebel position. Then, Honored-Brother Morees stamped into view, his las-cannons smoking from repeated firings. The flamer mounted in his other arm fired, and the flame lit up the building, sending a dozen or more of the rebels to a flaming grave. Two auto-cannons sent chains of flame stitching across the Dreadnoughts front armor, but the ancient adamantine armor held firm.

Erasmus rose to his feet, brandishing his chainsword and shouted, "Do you want to live forever!" His squad rose, screaming, "Death Comes For you!" and joined Erasmus as he ran toward the building. Erasmus crashed through a wall and into a frantic gun-crew, who were screaming incoherently at him. He swung his chainsword in a huge arc, cutting both the rebels in half, their dark blood splattering over him. Storming through into a hallway, Gunner Morenas sent gouts of flame into the hastily redeploying rebels. Four ran out a door and into the bolters of the now advancing Squad Topes. Erasmus stormed into the hallway, followed by his squad. He kicked in a door and cut down a heavy bolter crew, their blood and guts pooling around their now silent gun. Squad Noras was now moving up, the heavy bolter had pinned them down behind a sewer pipe.

He then led his squad up the same stairs he had taken not a week before and onto the next floor. The rebels were prepared for them this time, and a dozen or more were firing their las-guns into the charging Marines. Behind Erasmus, Gunner Olas was firing his shrieking plasma-gun into the rebels, the plasma-coils glowing red hot. The armor on his hands and arms was blackened and burned from the super-heated plasma weapon. A lucky las-bolt struck the plasma-coils and the gun blew up, the shockwave flattening the rebels and vaporizing the front part of Olas's body. Furious at having lost so many of his squad, Erasmus dived at the reeling rebels, hacking about him with his sword. Blood splattered everywhere, forming a fine sheen over everything with two meters. One of the rebels stabbed at him with a bayonet, but the steel blade broke against Erasmus's power armor. None of the rebels survived his attack. Standing over the shattered bodies of the rebels, Erasmus wiped their foul blood off his face before it clotted.

"Press on!" shouted Erasmus, his broken jaw forgotten. Shouldering through a wall, Erasmus came upon a group of rebel officers, standing over a chart-desk. Grinning, Erasmus drew his bolter in an instant and opened fire. The officers stood not a chance. The bolts easily penetrated their flak armor and detonated deep in their bodies, leaving them twisted and shattered. Shouldering back through the wall, Erasmus watched as the rest of his squad cleared the rest of the floor, mowing down the rebels in hails of gunfire, or clubbing them down with bolter stocks. "Rally up!' again shouted Erasmus, 'one floor left!" Swiftly, the battered squad stormed up the last flight of stairs, Brother Morenas at the fore, his flamer sending gouts of purifying promethium ahead of them. One the top floor was horror. Two Traitor Marines, their once sacred power armor now twisted and warped with the touch of Chaos. Their bolters roared and Brother Kylos fell, his head blown apart. Screaming, "For the Emperor," Erasmus hurled himself at them, his chainsword disemboweling one, and his sword glancing off the others armor. Cackling, the one that survived punched Erasmus in his unarmored face, breaking his jaw again. Reeling, Erasmus was pulled out of the way by one of his Brothers, then; Morenas immolated the last one, continuing to fire his flamer long after the Traitor had died and his body turned to ash. Erasmus had to shove Morenas to get him to stop firing. Morenas shrugged, his auto-reactive shoulder-pads whirling with the motion.

The rest of the floor was empty, so Erasmus radioed to Kylan that Objective Primus had been taken. The other objectives had been taken, the water plant one kilometer away, and the old Arbite HQ had been reclaimed. "Sergeant Erasmus,' spoke Kylan, 'you must hold your objective while the Imperial Guard move up behind us. Orbital survey indicates a large enemy force is moving to counter-attack. Sergeants Topes and Noras are also aiding you. That is all."

Behind him, Topes and Noras had already assembled to discuss their tactics. "Topes, since your squad has melta-guns, you shall have the third floor." Spoke Noras. Topes nodded. The anti-tank melta-guns would be best at the top floor, where they could fire down. "I shall take the first floor." Said Erasmus, his remaining flamer would be best served there. "That leaves me to take the second floor." Again spoke Noras. His squad had a number of plasma-guns and carried grenades. "Don't forget about Honored-Brother Morees,' chimed in Erasmus, 'he can be deployed on one of the flanks for support." The other Sergeants nodded. Knowing their duty, the Sergeants broke and began to ready themselves for the counter-attack.

Squad Erasmus piled the rebel bodies behind windows and in front of any large shell holes, and carried the heavy bolters to the third floor, where Topes directed his Marines to set them up in a cross fire. On the first floor, Morenas was doing the same, except setting up his plasma-guns in hard points. Outside, Honored-Brother Morees was waiting motionless on the right flank, his las-cannons pointed towards the rebel lines. Within minutes the apartment building was formidably defended. Just as they finished, the attack began.

Chapter 3

Defenses; Cultist attack; Sorcerer; Daemons

With grim determination, Erasmus watched as the rebel battalions came into view. Hundreds of rebel guardsmen intermixed with a few Leman Russ battle tanks, which were moving slowly in the rubble. But, as Erasmus noticed numerous large shapes behind the masses of guardsmen, he raised a pair of magnoculars and was horrified by what he saw. Two dozen Traitor Marines, supported by what looked like a Defiler or Stalk-tank. Erasmus shook his head, and loaded a fresh magazine into his bolter. Chaplain Kylan ordered them to hold, and hold they shall.

The first wave was in range now, and dozens of las-bolts were impacting everywhere, either glancing off rockcrete or punching through fiberboard. Erasmus opened fire, the heavy report of his bolter drowning out the pitiful _zipp_ of the las-guns. Several rebels fell, their bodies shredded by the mass-reactive rounds. The rest of the Marines opened fire at his lead, dozens of the heretic rebels died, their blood spraying over the survivors. But, there were so many, so very many, whatever holes were created where quickly filled back up by those behind. One las-bolt came so close to Erasmus he could taste its oxidized wake. A Leman Russ fired, but the massive battle-cannon shell landed short, killing a dozen of rebels, vaporizing their bodies and wounding numerous around them with the shrapnel. Erasmus thought he could see the white of a bone stabbing into one of the rebel's necks.

Honored-Brother Morees fired his las-cannons at one of the Leman Russ's and shrieking las-round blew apart the tank in a massive fireball, sending debris scything through the back ranks. One of the rebels stopped and deployed a heavy stubber and was sending chains of fire into the Marine position, forcing several to take cover from the large hard-rounds. Brother Scamander pulled out a frag grenade and threw it at the rebel. With a dull crump, the grenade exploded, killing the rebel and five of his comrades. The explosion also set of the stubber ammo, the heavy rounds firing off randomly, killing or wounding several rebels. Some rounds hit Marines, but only one fell, the lucky shot blowing his head apart like an over-ripe melon.

The rebel wave was close enough that flamers opened fire, sending gouts of promethium into the rebels. The ones who died quickly were the lucky ones; those merely lit on fire screamed horribly, and ran, only to collapse and die as the flame ate through their muscles and fat and charred them to the bone. Erasmus threw a grenade to clear a nest of the scum that had set up auto-cannons in a nearby building. Bodies tumbled out, shredded. Those wounded screamed and screamed and screamed, their limbs shredded and organs pulped by the concussive blast. The Defiler and the Traitor Marines were closing, but were not a major threat, yet. A Marine from Topes squad fell, his armored body falling from the third floor. Another Marine from Erasmus's squad fell, his body ridded with countless las-bolts.

"Death Comes for You!" shouted Erasmus as the rebels poured into the apartment, their sheer weigh of numbers destroying the Marines barricades. He emptied his bolter into the mass, killing half a dozen before his magazine ran dry and he pulled out his chainsword. Morenas was right next to Erasmus, firing his flamer into the mass of bodies. With their retreat blocked by their comrades, and their advance cut off by the Space Marines, the rebels died in droves. Then, the barricade to Erasmus's flank was destroyed by a krak missile. The rebels trying to storm the room from the front were all dead, and now a flank attack began. Erasmus shoved Morenas aside and began to cleave the rebels down, his sword shuddering and jolting as it hewed through bones and organs. Blood was spraying freely, and the bodies soon piled up, their blood forming in pools. The chainsword was whining, dried blood clotting the gears. But, the rebels kept coming. A large shape suddenly blocked the light. Cackling, a traitor Marine shoved his way to the front of the fighting, a grinning daemon-sword in one hand. Morenas was at Erasmus's side again, but as he fired, his flamer spurted and died, the canister spent. Cursing, the Marine fell back and began swapping canisters. In the mean time, Erasmus was on his own against the traitor Marine.

Erasmus ducked the first swipe of the daemon-sword, and thrust his chainsword at the Traitor, the blade chewing a hole in the ancient power-armor, but not nearly enough to kill the foul bastard. The Traitors reverse stroke caught Erasmus off guard, and cut off his left arm at the elbow. Bellowing in fury, Erasmus thrust his sword savagely but a rebel threw himself in the way and was speared on the sword, a maniacal grin on his face. Erasmus threw the rebel off the sword and hastily blocked a downward chop, deflecting it to the floor. While the Traitor was open for a second, Erasmus spun in and drove his knee into the area his sword had opened. The Traitor reeled and Erasmus saw his chance. Screaming, "For the Emperor!" he cut the Traitors head off with a savage slice.

"Fall back to the Second Floor!" shouted Erasmus into the squad vox. There was no hope fighting on all sides. He could no longer hear Honored-Brother Morees firing and assumed the ancient Dreadnought had been destroyed. Righteous anger griped him, but he still fell back up the stairs, trying reloading his bolter one-handed, cradling the muzzle on the burnt end of arm, which ended two inches before the elbow. The firing had stopped now, the rebels were falling back, their initial assault blunted. The rebel bodies had completely blocked off the first floor and almost formed a ramp up the second floor. Blood was ankle deep everywhere. At least seven Marines were dead. Erasmus's squad was down to five men. Brother-Sergeant Noras nodded at Erasmus as he reformed his squad at the top of the stairs. He was worried that the Traitor Marines were storming the bottom floor, but he could hear nothing.

"Sergeant Erasmus, you need to see this," called Noras, pointing outside, towards the rebels. Erasmus hurried over. A… man, if the term was applied loosely enough, was striding towards the apartment. He was dressed in loose robes, but as he neared, Erasmus could tell the robes were actually flayed human skin. Abruptly, he stopped, about two-hundred feet out. Then, a low chanting filtered back to Erasmus, and the man was gesturing strange, painful movements.

"Sorcerer!" shouted Erasmus, as he fired half a dozen bolts at the man. Every bolter spoke also, but every single round exploded prematurely, like miniature suns flaring in being. Probably a custom force field, thought Erasmus as he ceased firing. For several long minutes, the sorcerer chanted and made symbols in the air. The tension was palpable, and the ambient temperature dropped by approximately ten degrees. Then, with a sucking sound, a warp hole opened, and with a crack, two dozen daemons exploded into being. Cursing, Erasmus opened fire, cradling his bolter on a barricade. The daemons were foul, fouler than foul, sinuous and lithe, with many malformed breasts, and one arm ending in a gigantic claw. Their musk hit Erasmus like a brick, clouding his senses and dulling his mind. Reciting the Prayer of Deliverance, Erasmus shook his head and began firing again, but was forced to relocate, for the daemons had closed unnaturally fast, their reverse joined knees propelling them forward towards the Marine lines. The daemons vaulted up the ramps of corpses and set into the Marines. Firing point blank range, Sergeant Noras blew apart three with his plasma pistol until it over heated and blew up in his hand. Before the Sergeant could swing his sword, he was neatly sliced apart by a daemon-claw. Screaming, "For the Emperor!" Erasmus dropped his bolter and swung his chainsword in a massive arc, disemboweling a daemon in mid-jump. The daemon disappeared in a burst of strange colored blood that spattered like rain across his armor. Gunner Morenas was firing his flamer into a group of the daemons feasting on Noras's corpse and lit them up like torches. These burst into flame and also disappeared.

"Rally on me!" shouted Erasmus, for the two battered squads on the second floor had no chance on be themselves. Responding to the command, the Marines fell back to him in a textbook fashion, covering each other. One Marine who did not fall back just stood and stared at the daemons until a Marine from Noras's squad blew his head off with a plasma-gun. Few daemons were left now, and they shrieked and cackled as they slowly faded into nothing, leaving behind no evidence of their attack than the shattered bodies of the brave and noble Marines of the 1st Company.

"Resume firing positions!" shouted Erasmus; he could hear Squad Topes opening fire as he gave the order. Looking back out over the shattered, corpse strewn wasteland, he could see the rebels advancing again, this time lead by droves of mutants. A garbled voice came through on the vox, "This is Captain Joran of the Hexian Fourteen. We are moving up on your right flank. "

Erasmus grinned and said back, "Praise the Emperor, Captain. Beware; there are Traitor Marines out there." The vox was then nothing but static. Hopefully the guardsmen got his message. The Marines were still firing into the attacked rebels and mutants when the guardsmen stormed up the flank. Advancing in leap-frog style tactics, dozens of guard squads and platoons drove the rebels back. The sky was lit up by the hundreds of las-guns firing, and the support tanks of the guard firing their massive battle-cannons. Many guardsmen fell, hewn apart by mutant hands, or shot by rebel guns. But, the guard had numbers and the rebels turned and broke.

Chaplain Kylan slowly inspected the survivors of Objective Alpha. Of the twenty-five Marines that took Objective Alpha, the apartment, fourteen walked out. Of that fourteen, only six were not wounded. Squad Erasmus and Squad Noras were combined because of the heavy casualties each had suffered. Squad Topes had only lost one Marine.

His voice booming, Kylan spoke, "Marines, I am very proud of all of you. You have proven your courage and those who died will sit at the right hand of the Emperor in the next life. Due to your stubborn resistance, the rebels have been broken, and the Imperial Guard is taking back the city rapidly. But, as warriors of the Emperor, our work is never done and once the wounded have been treated, you will be sent to the next war zone. Dismissed."

Erasmus woke from half-sleep quickly, his arms twitching. Smiling, he flexed his new bionic arm, feeling the steel-trap strength there. The arm was perfect, the gears and servos glittering. He had triggered his Sus-an membrane as the Apothecaries and Tech-Marine set to work on the stump of his arm. They had to cut off two inches of flesh and bone that had been corrupted by the daemon-sword. It was two days after the battle. His squad was at full strength again, having been combined with the remnants of Squad Noras. He stood and picked up his freshly repaired helmet, slung his weapons and strode into the labyrinth of corridors that connected the _Wraith of the Emperor_, the 1st Companies Battle Barge. He was going to assemble the squad and begin training with them. If they did not know how each other fought, how could they fight effectively as a squad?

Book 3

Sergeant Erasmus and Inquisitor Koresh

Chapter 1

Lost Scouts; Found an Inquisitor

Erasmus stalked forward across the stream, the water sloshing around his armored feet, a startled fish swimming away. On his flanks, his squad followed his lead, listening for anything that might betray the orks location. Even with his Lymans ear filtering out extraneous noise, he could hear nothing. It was unlike orks to conceal themselves like this; usually one could hear them from a mile away. Erasmus was wary of this, the orks were probably in ambush, and he did not want to blunder into it. A hiss of static sizzled into his ear, the vox had been going in and out in these damn woods and he had lost track of Scout Squad Regna, which had pushed forward to investigate a down savior pod, that came from an Inquisitorial ship in orbit.

"Serge…Erasm,… ca…you…hea…me? Thi…is…Sergea…Regn…" a voice came through the vox, interrupted by hisses and moans of static, occasionally the crack of gun-fire cut through.

"Yes, go ahead, Regna, I can hear you." Responded Erasmus quickly, the gun-fire in the background was probably not a good sign, since Regna's squad was only five strong.

"Erasm,…the…ork…wer…wait…need…assist…now. Our…locat…wil…foll..." With that, the transmission ended, but Regna's coordinates came through anyway in a burst transmission on a VHF channel.

"Alright, squad, we are moving out in support of Regna. Stay on your feet, who knows what the hell is out there." Erasmus gestured to the south, deeper into ork territory, were Regna was fighting for his life.

The underbrush was thick, and most of the plants had nettles, or thorns that rattled against the power armor the Marines wore. Erasmus ran through them, uncaring of ambushes now, the orks were most likely being drawn to Regna's position. Behind him, his squad charged with him, Gunner's Morenas and Jorres at the fore, where their flamer and plasma gun would be best.

The sounds of battle were increasing now, numerous bolt reports, the crack of the orks crude slug weapons, and the whoosh of a flamer. Crude orkish war cries were filtering back, shaking leaves off the trees. One cry rang true over the orks, and it was:

"DEATH COMES FOR YOU!"

Erasmus drew his chainsword and cycled it, the engine whining and singing, and swung it over his head, gesturing towards the scout's position and answered the cry with one of his own:

"FOR THE EMPEROR!"

Erasmus charged through the trees, foliage smacking against his face and slowly him slightly, but he kept going, after all, his Battle-Brothers were deep in the fighting, and no Space Marine would leave a Brother to die. As he cleared the crest of a low hill, he was confronted by quite a sight. The scouts were in a semi-circle, with their backs against the savior pod. A tall man in a black storm-coat was with them, as well as a half-dozen heavily armed men, an old, robed man, and a woman in the livery of the Sisters Hospitaller. The man in the storm-coat exuded a calm aura, even though dozens of orks were attacking them. He gutted two, maintaining the calm aura, as if he was in ablutions, or eating breakfast. Erasmus thought it was disconcerting, but that did not matter.

Erasmus charged down, into the rear of the orks, his chainsword swinging left and right, cleaving apart the nearest orks in a shower of dark green blood, their bestial howls alerting the rest. One giant of an ork, with armor riveted to his body, turned and swung a gigantic hydraulic claw, almost shearing him apart. Erasmus thrust his sword, and sliced up, flaying open the ork. Morenas was firing his flamer in a nest of the green bastards that had set up some kind of heavy stubber and sending thick chains of fire over the heads of the scouts. The ammo detonated with a fiery flash, vaporizing the crew, and leaving a blackened crater five paces across. Jorres was at Morenas's side, his plasma-gun shrieking as it recharged, the plasma coils glowing red. Erasmus raising his bolt-pistol, and sent a dozen bolts into a group of the orks counter-charging his squad. Three of the orks went down, their crude armored jackets worthless against the mass-reactive bolts.

Four Battle-Brothers stood in a firing line, pumping dozens of rounds into the remaining orks, who were split between the scouts and Squad Erasmus. The orks went to ground, their crudely fashioned rifles chugging like a miss-firing engine. The man in the storm-coat ran forward, his retinue fanning out beside him, bolt and hell-guns blazing. The orks did not quietly, turning around and opening fire on the easier targets. Two of the mans bodyguards fell, their torsos shredded. The man also took a hit, but remained on his feet.

Erasmus rallied his squad and went over the greet Sergeant Regna, but the bloody man stepped into his way. Then, the man raised his palm, and an Inquisitorial electoo flashed into focus.

"Are you Sergeant Erasmus Harkon?" the Inquisitor spoke, his voice serious, but still eerily calm.

"Yes, yes I am, Lord Inquisitor." He responded hastily, even Space Marines had just cause to fear the Inquisition.

"First of all, I cannot claim the title of Lord Inquisitor. Second, my name is Mikal Kopesh, and you are coming with me…"

Chapter 2

Interrogation; Recruited by the Inquisition; Planet-fall; Approaching the Temple

Erasmus sat quietly, with his hands folded in his lap, in the Inquisitorial void-room. Inquisitor Kopesh strode around him, his hands behind his back, maintaining the damn aura of calm. After the scouts had been rescued, the Inquisitor had taken Erasmus to an orbiting Battle-ship, the name of which Erasmus had not caught, stripped him of his armor and weapons, and left him in the void-room for several hours, before Kopesh came.

"Do you know why you are here, Sergeant?" the Inquisitor began, leaning against a low table that ran the length of the small room, his arms crossed across his chest. Erasmus remained silent for a moment, thinking.

"No, no I don't." he said at length, he could think of nothing that he had done to warrant Inquisitorial attention.

"Some time ago, when you were involved in the re-claiming of Greta Major, you lost your arm to a chaos (he frowned when he said the word) daemon or rune sword, is this correct?" The Inquisitor continued; his face impassive and unreadable.

"Yes, yes I do remember this incident,' unconsciously, he flexed his bionic arm, still immaculate and unmarred, 'But I don't understand why that would concern the Inquisition. No offense meant, of course."

"You see, Sergeant Erasmus, Chaos corrupts all it touches, whether it is flesh, steel, or spirit,' he said the last word with a slight strain in his voice, as if remembering something, 'when the daemon/rune sword cut off your arm, it may have corrupted you, be it your flesh, your mind, or your soul. I have been sent here by my masters to determine if you have been corrupted, and if you have, remove your taint, permanently." As he finished, he stared hard into Erasmus's eyes, as if staring into the Marines soul, as if searching for something there.

Erasmus sat back. The Inquisitors words had unearthed so many questions. What if he was tainted? What if he spread his taint, if he was tainted, to his Brothers? How would the Inquisitor test his purity? Would he be found pure? So many passed through his mind, but one came to his attention.

He spoke softly, anger straining his voice, "How will you test me?"

The Inquisitor quietly stood up, rubbing his left arm and

This information is classified. Access denied. Inquisitorial mandate required for access.

Two weeks after Erasmus was released by the Inquisition

Erasmus strode purposefully towards his quarters. It felt like it had been ages since he had honored his war-gear, or fought in battle, but it had been a mere two weeks. He shuddered for a moment. What he had gone through to prove he was pure of heart and free of taint was horrendous. Physical pain, mental tests, even psychic examination, but no taint was found, and he was released from Inquisitorial battleship where he had been held.

Softly, he opened the door to his quarters and beheld his war-gear for a moment. In the far left corner of the room, his armor stood, empty and dormant, waiting for him to reclaim it. On the other side of the room, his bolt pistol and chainsword sat on racks set into the wall, calm and quiet now, but before long would be caked in blood and filth. It was good to be back.

Silently, he knelt in front of his armor, whispering a prayer to placate the angered machine spirits. For long minutes he prayed, and after his prayer, he began to clean the armor, even though it was immaculate. Slowly and carefully, he cleaned each piece, pouring oil and unguents over the surface. Then, just as slowly, he donned the armor, starting with his boots, and ending by donning the helmet he rarely wore. Turning sharply, he shifted to his weapons, cleaning those in the same fashion. Just as he was about to go to the firing-range and test his weapons, one of his Marines, Gunner Jorres, the plasma-gunner of his squad, stopped him.

"Sergeant, I am glad to see you have made it back, but an Inquisitor is asking for you." Jorres looked almost concerned, his face in a slight frown.

Erasmus cursed under his breath. The damn Inquisitor just wouldn't leave him be. "Where is he?" Erasmus said coldly, his teeth clenched.

Jorres lead Erasmus to an out of the way briefing room, where the rest of his squad was waiting, as well as Veteran Squad Topes. Standing in the center, next to a large holo-projector, was Inquisitor Mikal Kopesh. All eyes were on Erasmus, and everyone, save Kopesh, saluted him as he walked in.

His teeth still clenched, Erasmus spoke softly, "You summoned me, Inquisitor Kopesh?"

"Ah, yes, Erasmus. I'm glad to see you well, after our little 'conversation.' But, this is far more important." With that, Kopesh turned on the holo-projector. First, there was nothing but static, but Kopesh struck the side of the projector with his fist. The image flared sharply into focus. It was a large building, shaped like a gigantic eight-pointed star.

"This is the Temple of the Chaos Light. Before I was reassigned to deal with Sergeant Erasmus's case, I was searching for this building. I have found it planet side. Inside the Temple is an alter; built on what my sources tell me is a portal to a daemon world in the Eye of Terror.' Kovash paused for a moment, as if trying to recall information, 'Most Inquisitors would just destroy the planet, but the orks, my sources once again tell, believe the alter to be to one of their twisted gods, and are offering it blood sacrifices. This fresh blood is opening the portal. Any questions?" Kopesh paused again.

Erasmus spoke up, "What does this have to do with our squads?" he indicated Squad Topes as he spoke.

"Ah, I was about to go on to that. I plan to attack the orks at the Temple, and destroy the alter, sealing the portal. Since I do not have enough forces left to undertake this operation, I am enlisting your squads to help. Now, you will find data-slates with more detailed information in all your quarters. Dismissed."

Shaking like a leaf in the wind, the Thunderhawk plunged through the atmosphere, heat shields glowing red. Inside its armored hull sat a score of Space Marines, and a group of Inquisitorial followers, as well as one Ordo Hereticus Inquisitor. Their objective, as still obscured by distance and severe cloud cover was not visible from a porthole. Occasionally, lightening would split the sky, and illuminate the dark, night sky.

Sergeant Erasmus calmly checked his bolt pistol, making sure the magazine was inserted correctly, and that the machine spirits were properly placated. As the Thunderhawk pitched over another thermal, he quickly put the pistol back in the grox hide holster on his side. Having loaded weapons out and about during a rough landing was a good way to shoot someone, especially those damn Inquisitorials. There were three hard-bitten Imperial Guard veterans, two chanting Ecclesiarchy Priests, and one…something. It looked like it was formally a man, but something else was inhabiting the body. It was draped in heavy chains and wards, and would occasionally scream in an unnaturally high voice. Erasmus almost shot it when some of the chains it was bound in began to move on their own. Now, he tried not to look at it, but instead thought about the mission details. They were to land about one kilometer south of the Temple, fight their way into it, destroy the alter, and escape, meeting another Thunderhawk two kilometers east of the Temple on a plateau. Aerial pic-steals had revealed numerous ork war bands in the area, possibly inside the Temple. Survivability was rated as low. Erasmus smiled to himself; it was just another day as a Space Marine.

"Fifteen seconds to landing," Came the serf-pilot's disembodied voice over the intercom. The Thunderhawk was shaking badly now, one of the Priests vomiting all over the bay, splattering the Guard veterans, who cursed loudly. Inquisitor Mikal quieted them with a hard stare. The veterans just cursed under their breath, as they tried to clean the vomit from their matt-black carapace armor.

"Alright, Marines,' began Sergeant Topes, 'we all know how important this mission is, so I expect you all to do your duty. Praise the Emperor."

"Praise the Emperor!" bellowed every Marine in the bay, crashing their right fists over their breasts.

Erasmus felt his grav-harness tighten, and he braced himself for landing. With a bone-jarring jolt, the Thunderhawk touched down with a shriek of landing thrusters and the whoosh of super-heated air. With a clang, the hold's door shot open, the explosive bolts set into the frame functioning perfectly. The grav-harness's holding open the squads shot off, and Erasmus lead his squad out first, following the attack plan.

Even with his occulobe, Erasmus had trouble seeing in the pitch black, raining night. Only when lightening opened the sky, and thunder shook the air, could he see well. Several shapes flickered in and out of cover about one-hundred meters to the front. Silently, he motioned Topes forward and pointed out the direction of the movement. An acknowledgement rune flashed on the retinal display in his helmet. The dark green armored Marines moved forward as silently as possible, their armored feet barely disturbing the puddles of water. One of the Marines paused a moment and wiped the water from his helmet visor. Just as the squad was approaching where Erasmus saw the movement, a dozen muzzle flashes lit the night.

"Damn green skins were waiting!" Erasmus heard Topes curse into the vox. A melta gunner in the squad fired his weapon, and the thermal beam cut a swathe through the firing green skins. At least four were killed, instantly and painfully turned to fiery ash. Both groups were firing; the muzzle flashes so bright Erasmus felt his retinas involuntarily snap shut. Squad Topes charged forward, Topes at the front, his chainsword squealing. Erasmus could see little of fight, but another rune flashing on his display told him that Topes had finished the filthy beasts.

"Inquisitor, we have secured the site," Erasmus glanced back into the Thunderhawk as the Kopesh strode out. He was wearing a full length, black storm-coat, lined with flak plates; his hands in tharr-hide gloves and around his waist sat a holstered bolt-pistol and some form of sword. Silhouetted against the light of the bay, he struck an imposing sight. Around him, the Priests huddled close, as if afraid of what the darkness might hold, while the Guard vet's kept an eye out.

The Inquisitor spoke, his voice a clarion call over the peals of thunder, "You all know the plan and the objectives, so I need not repeat those to you. Those who fall today shall always be remembered in the Inquisition as heroes. Do your duty to the Emperor." It was a short speech, but it cut home, even to Erasmus.

Squad Erasmus and Squad Topes fanned out in a diamond formation, with the Inquisitorial band in the center. Few orks were in the strike forces way, and those were easily dispatched by bolter, chainsword or combat knife. Erasmus consulted his auspex after twenty minutes of rapid march. According to the screen, they were within half a kilometer of the Temple, but Erasmus did not trust the technology, for auspex's had failed him before.

A sudden, bright muzzle flash caused him to drop to a crouch. A chattering autocannon of some sort had opened fire on the advancing party and was sending thick chains of fire at Squad Topes. Erasmus reacted quickly, flanking through a river bed that was choked with run-off. He jogged forward, every sense on overdrive, closing in on the position. A group of orks cut him off, armed with crude rifles and stick grenades. He raised his bolt-pistol and opened fire, the bolts shrieking through the air to kill two of the foul beasts.

"Purge the beasts, Brothers!" he shouted over the sound of the rain. Gunner Morenas used his flamer to flush the green skins into the open, where the bolters of squad felled them all, the orks blood turning the river to a sick, green color. Swiftly, Erasmus ran forward. He was to the right of the gun, the shear brightness of the flash causing his retinal display to darken and blind him. Cursing, Erasmus wrenched the helmet off. He could see the two ork gunners clearly, feeding the crude autocannon belts of heavy shells. He motioned Jorres to the front. The plasma-gun armed Brother needed to orders. He raised the ancient weapon to his shoulder and opened fire, the balls of glowing plasma immolating the crew and igniting the ammunition, lighting up the area like a torch.

"Advance Brothers, even a blind man would see this." Two clicks in his vox bead alerted him. He put his helmet back on and felt the seal hiss. A rune flashed on the display told him it was sealed perfectly. Squad Topes and the Inquisitor rejoined him. A quick head count told him no one was injured.

Before they had gone two hundred meters, the gigantic Temple loomed. Erasmus motioned everyone down and zoomed in his display. The image was out of focus for a moment, but cleared. He could see dozens of orks milling around a larger figure, who was gesturing towards the flames behind the Inquisitor, while firing his crude pistol in the air.

"We may have been spotted. We need to hook left to avoid them, and them we might be able to gain entrance to the structure." Erasmus said hurriedly. They would do the Imperium no good if they let a planet die.

Chapter 3

Defending the Temple; Fighting a daemon; teleportation

"Here they come again!" shouted Brother Korpes, of Squad Topes. Topes had died about three hours ago, just as they had penetrated the defenses around the Temple. He had been blown apart by a missile. Five other Marines were dead, as well as some of Inquisitor Kovash's retinue. They had managed to find the alter, and Kovash and his priests were working to close the portal, while Squads Erasmus and Topes were holding the one corridor to the alter. It was lined with bodies of orks.

Erasmus leaned right from behind a wall and firing his bolt pistol into the charging green skins. This wave was lead by dozens, if not hundreds, of little slave creatures, most likely 'gretchin'. Gunner Morenas took care of those with his flamer, ending gouts of purifying flame down the corridor. The air was filled with the stench of burning flesh. From behind the smoke, charged orks. They were armed with crude cleavers and several threw stick grenades, but none landed near the battered Marines. A Marine from Squad Topes fired a thrumming melta-gun into the press, blasting a hole that was soon filed up by more orks. Gunner Jorres fired his shrieking plasma-gun, and sent goblets of burning plasma into the screaming orks. Another stick grenade soared in, this time landing in the midst of them. Brother Kirlin, of Erasmus's squad, dived on the grenade and curled it into his stomach. The grenade went off with a dull crump and Kirlin was thrown backwards, the ceramite on his torso shredded beyond recognition, his dark red blood mixing with foul green ork gore. The orks fell back, leaving another fresh pile of bodies, but every charge got further and further down the hall as the Marines ammo began to run down.

Erasmus heard the chanting from the large room the alter was in and wondered how long it would be before Koresh and his bloody Ecclesiarchy priests would take to close the damn portal. They had been in there for almost two hours, chanting and praying. Occasionally, thick clouds of incense would billow out. He resisted the urge to burst in there and demand to know what was going on, but Koresh had given him specific instructions not to go in and interrupt, because it might have catastrophically bad results. They might be here all night.

The battered and bleeding group of Marines saw off two more assaults over the next hour, losing two more Marines in the fighting. Ammo was getting to be scarce, especially flamer canisters. Erasmus took a heavy slug round to his helmet and he had to pull the shattered lens of one of his eye pieces out of the bone around his eye. He would probably lose the eye, unless he got back to the Apothecarion soon. This would be unlikely given their current situation.

The chanting stopped suddenly and the silence was engulfing. Kopesh burst out of the room and screamed "We have failed! The portal is open!"

Erasmus turned back, confused by the Inquisitors words, and glanced back into the alter room. And the sight almost drove him mad. The portal was open and it looked out into a screaming, braying mob of daemon-kin. Screaming the Prayer of Deliverance, he raised his pistol and emptied it into the mob. No effect. Turning, the rest of the survivors pumped hundreds of rounds in the daemon horde as it tumbled out of the portal. Dozens of daemons must have fallen, but there were so many, so very many… Snarling, Erasmus reloaded his pistol and emptied it again. A gigantic daemon, probably a daemon prince or something charged at him. He ducked the first blow and swung his chainsword in an upward slice, gutting the daemon bastard. Laughing, the daemon prince chopped down with a massive, rusted cleaver. Erasmus rolled out of the way, but the cleaver took off the bottom inch of his foot. Screaming in rage, Erasmus rolled to his feet and stabbed the sword through the rend in the daemons belly. The chainsword stuck there, lodged in the daemons spine. Gunner Jorres pumped plasma rounds into the daemon, burning off huge chunks of flesh. The daemon reeled and Erasmus reloaded his pistol. Glancing at Kopesh, he saw the Inquisitor was fumbling with a device on his belt.

A whoosh of wind, then total blackness. Then, a loud pop, and Erasmus was starring face to face with an ancient tech-priest. Erasmus laughed out loud. The Inquisitor had a teleport homer and had used it to transport the survivors out. Then, he stopped. One of his Marines had ended up outside the marked lines on the teleport pad and was neatly cut in half, exposing layers of armor, muscle and bone. With a wet sound, the Marine collapsed into a pool of blood.

Kopesh ran past the tech-priest, but Erasmus no longed cared. He had survived one of the hardest missions he had ever been on, and faced down a greater daemon and survived. In the 1st Company, only Captain Mepesto and Chaplain Kylan could claim that. Stepping off the teleport pad, he stumbled, his foot flaring in agony. Blood was beginning to pool around it.

Chapter 4

Repercussions

Erasmus now found himself dragged to the Council chambers, his armor stripped from him and his weapons taken away. Treatment like this only happened to those who truly violated the Chapters tenements, not those who aided an Imperial Inquisitor!

A Marine in the white and gold livery of a Veteran opened the doors to the Council Chambers, and beckoned Erasmus to enter, the Veterans hand hovering next to his holstered bolt pistol.

The Council chamber was a huge, vaulted room, the ceiling stretching away for at least twenty meters. Every square foot of the room was covered in either devotional script, or images of the Chapters previous battles. One scene showed the now Captain Mepesto striding through the daemon lines at the Battle of Hell Gate, the Banner of the Second grasped in his hands.

A great marble table dominated the center of the chamber, seated around it were twenty Space Marines, their armor ornate and ancient. These were the council members and those without helmets had grim faces, some back-lit by psychic hoods, or had wreaths around their foreheads. These were some of the Chapters greatest heroes, Captains, Chaplains, Librarians, the Chief Tech-Marine and the Master Apothecary, who had hundreds of years of experience and battle behind them.

"Do you know why you are here, Sergeant?" a gravelly voice spoke. He could only be Chaplain Plutus, who had retaken the Cerebus Sector from the daemon Styx. With his words, every head in the chamber turned as one to look upon the robed form of Erasmus.

"No, Honored-Brothers, I do not." Erasmus was little nervous now, what if his dealing with the Inquisition was not the reason he was there?

"Sergeant,' another deep voice spoke this time, it was Librarian Charon, 'your recent mission with the Inquisition has violated one of the basic rules of our Chapter. You obviously do not remember when the Inquisition tried to investigate and imprison our entire Chapter!"

"My Lords,' began Erasmus, 'I still do not understand why aiding the Inquisition would incur your wrath. The Inquisitor my squad and I aided was not trying to disband our chapter and imprison us. He was trying to stop a terrible calamity from befalling one of the Emperors…" Erasmus paused a moment, he had raised his voice to the Council, which was insubordination.

"Continue, Sergeant," a metallic voice spoke. It was Chief Tech-Marine Geryon. His throat had been shot out by an ork and replaced long ago by bionics.

"Forgive my tone, Lords. I was merely saying that the Inquisitor I was aiding had been trying to stop orks from opening a portal, which lead to a daemon-planet, on the world. He did not want to sanction an Exterminatus."

"Lies!' snarled Plutus, 'The Inquisitor corrupted you with his heretical actions and was trying to open the portal to harness the power of the daemons inside!"

"Calm yourself Plutus.' Master Apothecary Minos spoke softly, 'Our only evidence is Sergeant Erasmus's testimony. We cannot place baseless accusations at one of our Marines and…" The Apothecary was interrupted by the great stone doors of the Council chamber opening.

It was another Veteran. "My Lords, I beg your forgiveness for interrupting, but a report has just come in from the _Wraith of the Empe_r_or_." The Veteran stepped forward and handed the data-slate to Captain Loras, of the Third Company.

Turning the data-slate on with his armored thumb, Loras's open face was lit by the green glow of the screen. As he read, his face went from impassive to furious in a moment.

"You say he did not want to sanction an Exterminatus, correct?" Loras's hand was shaking slightly, but he did not let anger into his voice, yet.

"Yes, sir. He did not want to destroy one of the Emperors worlds." Erasmus was slightly confused now, hadn't he just said this?

"That damn Inquisitor destroyed the world! Four million Imperial subjects and whatever Guard units were left! Even though you helped him, he still killed the planet! The good Marines that we lost were all for not!" Loras was standing up, shaking the data-slate at Erasmus, his voice echoing loudly around the room.

"Lords, I had no idea that he was going to do this. I shall accept any punishment you deem necessary." Erasmus hung his head in shame. He could have told the Inquisitor no when he enlisted his squad and squad Topes, for the Inquisition did not have authority over the Adeptus Astartes.

"One hundred days of physical penance and fifteen days of meditation and prayer shall be your punishment. However, your penance will be postponed until your next campaign is over" Chaplain Plutus spoke instantly, his voice harsh and unforgiving.

Book 4

Captain Mepesto, Chaplain Kylan, Sergeant Erasmus

Chapter 1

Lessons on Faith; Rough landings; advancing into hell

"This, Sergeants, is the world of Orpheus VII.' Captain Mepesto paused a moment, gesturing to the holographic map on the chart-desk. It was Cardinal-world, covered with gigantic Cathedrals, soaring Basilicas, and towering statues of the Emperor. 'This world is the lynch-pin of faith for the entire Sector. The Arch-Enemy has taken most of the world from the Imperial forces and the Council has deemed it critical for our company to aide in retaking the world. You will each receive more detailed briefings. Chaplain Kylan is going to be leading the Company in prayer at 1530 and I suggest you all be there. Dismissed."

Erasmus picked up a data-slate and walked back to his squad-bay. It would be expected of him to individually brief his squad and get them ready for the battle to come. His hearts filled with revulsion at the thought of the Traitor Legions. For his entire life, Chaplains had preached how the Traitor deserved nothing but hatred and death. He banished the thoughts from his mind; this was one of the first assignments were he would be fighting alongside Captain Mepesto. Reaching the squad-bay, he shouted at his squad, "Form up!" With a crash of booted feet, Squad Erasmus snapped to attention. "We have been reassigned to the world of Orpheus VII, to fight the Chaos threat there. You will all receive additional information in your cells, and there is a Company prayer at 1530. That is all." Erasmus spun on his heel and returned to his quarters, to honor his weapons and armor before the coming battles. His bolt pistol had jammed in the last battle and it had almost cost him his life.

Mepesto had different things on his mind. The previous campaigns and missions had left the First Company battered and below-strength, at about one hundred and twenty Marines, instead of the standard one-hundred and fifty. One hundred and twenty Space Marines was a force to be reckoned with, but the intelligence on the strength of the Traitors was vague and numbers were hazy. Picking up one of the many data-slates that littered his quarters, he flipped through it, examining the numbers of Imperial Guard and PDF forces on the planet. Some seven thousand Guardsmen of the various regiments, and ten thousand PDF infantry-men, plus elements of the Twelfth Cadian Armored and Fifth Armageddon Steel Legion. The environment would be a twisted, shattered, urban hell.

Chaplain Kylan strode to the front of the Chapel, his Crozius Arcanum held high in his right hand, while in his left, he swung a censor, billowing orange clouds of incense trailing. His jet-black power armor had bone decorations around the greaves and helmet. He was an imposing sight. Few of the Company had ever scene his face, for he preferred to be thought of as a faceless icon of faith. As he reached the front of the Main Chapel, he about-turned and addressed the gathered First Company.

"KNELL!" his command rang out in the vast, pillared Chapel. Statues of the previous Chapels lined the entire Chapel, and they silently gave their approval of prayer to come. With a thunderous crash, the entire Company, including Mepesto, slammed to the floor in a kneel.

"Lord Emperor,' began Kylan, 'we go to war against a horrendous foe, the foul Traitor Legions. With your strength and guidance, we shall overcome this foe and your praises shall echo across the stars. Praise the Emperor."

"Praise the Emperor."

"When will my soul be like thrice-forged steel?" Kylan shouted, his Crozius raised high.

"In the heat of Battle!" The Company had stood and slammed their fists against the breasts of their armor.

"When does your duty to the Emperor end?" Kylan came again, his blood singing and his heart ablaze.

"In Deaths cold embrace!" The Company of Space Marines slammed their fists twice against their breasts, their voices causing flecks of dust to float down from the ceiling.

"What will be your reward?" Kylans voice was like thunder, able to cut through the sounds of battle and still be heard.

"The Knowledge I have done my duty!" Erasmus could feel his hearts beat faster, truly inspired by the Chaplains oratory.

"What will be your Battle-Cry?" Kylan was walking amongst the Marines, blessing each with holy water from Terra itself.

"Death comes for You!" The cry erupted from every mouth there, even though they had spoken the prayer hundreds of times in the past.

Mepesto smiled to himself. It was a simple and standard prayer, but the way Kylan could say it, he could inspire even the most defeated soul.

The Thunderhawk shot threw the sky, engines screaming, towards the embattled Imperial lines. Erasmus could see the signs of the fighting from up here, shattered buildings and massive shell-craters, toppled statues and the hulks of wrecked vehicles. The fact that a Cardinal-world would be so defiled filled his chest with hate.

Erasmus closed his eyes and calmed himself. It would do no good to lose himself to his hate and anger. Instead, he recalled and reviewed what information they knew. The Imperial forces had fallen back to an ever-tightening perimeter around the Cathedral of the Emperors Light. The Imperials refused to give up this position, for, during the Great Crusade, the Emperor had walked on the ground that the Cathedral was built on. After landing, their first objective would be to secure the Imperial lines. His next objective was to retake the Basilica of Saint Olav.

As the Thunderhawks began to near the shell-cratered space-port, fire from the ground started. Las-cannon beams left oxidized wakes as they passed far to close to the Thunderhawks to be comfortable. Small-arms fire splattered against the armored hulls like rain, leaving dents and scars, marring the pristine surface of the newly re-painted ships. One auto-cannon shell punched through the wing but mercifully, did not hit a fuel-line.

With a crunch, the Thunderhawk touched down, landing-claws recoiling to absorb the impact. With a snap-crack, the restraints holding in the thirty Space Marines popped off. Grabbing his chainsword and pistol from an overhead rack, he led his squad down the ramp onto space-port.

The noise would have deafened a normal man. The roar of gunship engines blocked out most of the sounds of gunfire, but as Erasmus jogged towards the Guard lines, he could hear everything. Huge amounts of las-fire intermixed with the _crump _of grenade launchers or the boom of bolters. Behind this, he could hear the dull roar of tank engines and battle-cries.

Crossing under the massive, vaulted entrance of the space-port, Erasmus was awed by the sheer size and elegance of every building within sight. Then, a shell landed nearby and jolted him out of his thoughts.

A Guard officer in a peak cap ran up to Erasmus. "Thank the Emperor you're here. The Chaos bastards have almost broken through near that shrine!" the Guard officer gestured vaguely to the front, where Erasmus could hear screams and see giant armored shapes moving through a thick haze of smoke.

"We shall see to it." Erasmus cocked his bolt pistol and jogged towards the lines, about fifty meters away. The tactical squad covered the distance in minutes, slowing occasionally to rally Guard squads that were falling back, or shoot those who were running away. It was better to cull the weak then let them weigh down the strong.

Mepesto was already in the thick of it. His Thunderhawk had been 'forced' to abort their original landing and 'crash' two kilometers into the city. In reality, they had information that the last Traitors were still in the city. Assembling his squads in a shattered manufactorium, Mepesto spoke quickly to three assembled squads.

"This will hopefully be the last battle we have to fight to wipe the taint from the chapters honor. As we all know, the last leader of the traitors has no name, but carries a glaive. Kill him." Mepesto had spent hours pouring over the Chapter archives, searching for any information on who he was, but he had learned nothing.

Screams came from a nearby Cathedral and strange lights filtered through the shattered glass of the windows. Mepesto signaled for Squad Torques to take the left and Squad Asmar to take the right. He would take the front door. Silent as the wind, the Marines took up position and waited for the Captains signal. Mepesto leaned in the door and tried to see what was inside the great Cathedral.

It was grotesque. A large group of Traitor Marines, twenty or more, were skinning Guardsmen alive. Already, sheets of skin hung from rafters of the Cathedral and blood fell like rain. Cultists were taking the skinned Guardsmen and carving Chaos symbols on the glistening muscle and fat. It filled him with hate. Swiftly, he took a frag grenade off his belt and set the timer for five seconds before arming it and lobbing it into the group of Traitors. One of the more quick-thinking Traitors grabbed a cultist and pushed his body on top of the grenade. With a dull _crump_, the grenade detonated. The cultist was shredded, the thin clothes and patched flak armor he wore was no protection against the grenade. Shards of bone and metal shrapnel scythed through the Traitor ranks, but their ancient, baroque power armor held firm. Only one was killed, the quick-thinking one who was cut in half at the waist. The other cultists and Guardsmen were not so lucky. Those closest to the grenade were killed instantly, torn apart. Further away, their limbs were shredded, or organs pulped and died slow, painful deaths. The Guardsmen were killed instantly, their naked, skinless bodies having no protection.

"For the Emperor!" Mepesto shouted as he stormed forward, his storm-bolter spitting mass-reactive death. Shouting their own oaths and curses, Squads Asmar and Torques crashed through the walls or shouldered their way through doors. The Traitors were cut down from three sides and none survived. Mepesto's storm-bolter and lightening claw accounted for four of the foul bastards. One of the Guardsmen was still alive, he was one of the lucky few who had not been skinned and had been far enough away from the grenade not to be killed by it.

"Apothecary, check him out. Make sure he will survive." Mepesto spoke to Servenus; the Guardsmen might know something about the traitors. If he had to, Mepesto would eliminate the Guardsmen if he learned out to much about the Chapter history. The white-armored Apothecary hurried forward, and began to check the weeping Guardsmen for injuries.

"What is your name?" Servenus asked quietly, while bandaging a shrapnel wound on the Guardsmen's arm.

"I am Corporal Lefet of the Ixon Eighth. My platoon was sweeping the sewers when these traitor bastards,' Lefet spit on the shattered corpse of one the traitor Marines, 'came out of nowhere and wiped out most of the platoon. Those that survived were taken here,' Lefet shuddered, 'I was next in line."

Mepesto crouched down beside the Corporal, "Do you think you could help us get back to the main Imperial line?" his voice was calm and almost soothing. Perhaps the traitor leader was in the sewers. Or, he was moving through them to hit the Imperial lines from behind…

Lefet thought for a moment, his eyes shut, "Yes, yes I could, but only if we go through the sewers,' his eyes snapped wide in an instant, 'but, but there could be more traitors could done there! We can't go through there, we can't!" His voice was frantic and his eyes wide and fearful.

Mepesto grabbed Lefet by his shirt-front and dragged his face close to his snarl-nosed helmet, the silver and gold of his bionic eye being reflected back in the Corporals eyes. "We will be going through the sewer then. I trust you shall be able to lead us through them,' Mepesto raised his storm-bolter and pressed it against the side of Lefet's skull, 'Or else we shall no longer need you."

"Asmar,' Mepesto spoke, turning to face the Sergeant, 'Are any of these our traitors?" his voice was low.

Asmar was methodically wrenching off the helmets of the fallen traitors and examining them, before putting a bolt through their heads.

"No, Captain. None of these are."

Kylan was having different problems. The traitors had withdrawn because of the heavy resistance the Warhawks were putting up and Kylan was waiting for some ploy or trap. But he had long since run out of patience. Snarling, he raised his Crozius and switched on his external vocalizer and shouted along the line "For the Emperor! Advance and take the fight the fight to them! Leave none of the bastards alive! Watch the flanks and keep the line strong!"

The Imperial forces charged through the makeshift barricades they had set up and began to advance, cautiously checking every building, kicking in doors and throwing grenades into rooms. There was nothing, no traps or ambushes. Nothing.

The Imperials advanced almost four hundred meters this way, every nerve on edge and the slightest noise causing a flurry of gunfire and cursing. The Space Marines were different. Calmly and with determination, they advanced, covering each other and watching for the counterattack that was sure to hit the advancing Imperials.

Kylan was shouting prayers across the line, to keep any spiritual weakness away and ensure each and every Guardsman was doing his duty to the fullest. He began with Thor's prayers on faith and moved onto the litanies of battle and hate. Soon, the whole line was chanting, every Marine and every Guard raising his voice.

It may have been in error for every Imperial to take up the prayers and songs. For no one noticed the sewer drains they were passing over. With the creak and groan of metal, the drain covers were pushed off from the inside by rough hands.

Chapter 2

Mutants; Of sewers dank and dark

Erasmus was standing just behind one of the sewer drains when the mutants threw off the covers and poured out. They were foul, with rough, thick looking skin, or horns, or extra arms or any number of foul mutations. Erasmus revved his sword up and cut down two of the mutants with one stroke, his arm jolting as the sword cut through flesh and bone with ease.

"Ambush!" he shouted as he saw the scene being repeated all along the line of the Imperial advance. Brother Morenas was standing above the sewer entrance, his flamer belching out waves of purifying flame. Screams echoed up from below and clouds of smoke wafted out. Erasmus pulled Morenas back and peered down the sewer, checking to make sure there were no more done there, only to have a blackened, gigantic mutant fire a crude firearm at him. Nails, glass and other things besides splattered across his chest and marred the golden Imperial eagle on his breastplate. Snarling, he fired four bolts into the mutant's chest, the mass-reactive bolts blowing apart the bastard in a shower of blood and bone. Brother Sardis pulled a frag grenade out and hurled it into the sewer. More screams echoed out, then the crump of the grenade. Then, nothing.

The Imperial line was in shambles. Hordes of mutants had cut off their lines of retreat and they had to fall back towards the traitor lines. Hundreds of the Guard were dead, cut apart by rusty knives and cleaves, or shot by crudely fashioned firearms. If it had not been for the Space Marines, every one of the Guardsmen would have died. The Marines had formed firing lines to cover the Guard retreat/advance and killed waves of the mutants, pinning them in the sewer entrances and hurling grenades. Armor support had landed a few minutes ago and the Dreadnoughts and Predators proved invaluable against the mutants, sending thick chains of fire into any large groups that formed or pulping them with gigantic hydraulic claws. However, in some of the more built up places, the mutants gathered and counterattacked.

Kylan fired his plasma-pistol into another mutant's face, the boiling plasma ending the foul mutant's life in a flash of fire. A larger mutant smashed Kylan with a massive club, sending the Chaplain flying five paces. Armor wheezing from a damaged joint, Kylan picked himself up and charged back into the fray, his razor-sharp Crozius shearing through the mutant's arms and a savage kick to the face ended the mutant's life.

Next to him, Gunner Refaas screamed as his plasma-cannon overheated spectacularly and the boiling plasma ate through his armor at an alarming rate and burned him alive.

Two more of the mutant scum charged at Kylan, knives and cleavers in their hands, murder and violence in their eyes. Kylan raised his pistol and fired, but the pistol just wheezed, smoke pouring from the coils. Snarling he threw the pistol at the mutants and ducked just as the venerable weapon exploded, immolating the mutants instantly. Gritting his teeth and shaking his head, he drew his auxiliary bolt pistol and chambered a round. That pistol was over five thousand years old and every one of his predecessors had carried it into battle. Losing it was a disgrace and he would have to atone for it later.

Hearing screams from further down the line, Kylan rallied his squad with a sweep of his hand and moved on to the scene of violence and bloodshed. Where the hell was Mepesto?

Mepesto was sloshing through thigh-deep water, propelling Lefet in front of him. They had entered the sewer about fifteen minutes ago, but seemed to be going in circles. Whenever the auspex was consulted, it showed that they were still traveling towards the Imperial lines. Lefet suddenly stopped and Mepesto almost crushed the smaller man.

"What is it, Corporal?" Mepesto asked, his storm-bolter scanning the sewer tunnel, which his auto-senses bathed in a green light.

"This is where we were ambushed." Lefet's voice cracked and the man was shaking.

"Continue on." Mepesto was getting impatient. If one Imperial force was ambushed here, it would be just as easy to ambush another.

Lefet took one step forward, and then stopped again, this time looking down at the water.

"Something just brushed against my…" A dull explosion shredded the Guardsmen and knocked Mepesto down into the filthy, polluted water. Snarling, Mepesto rose to his feet, his helmet keeping the brown water out of his lungs. Bright gunfire suddenly lit up the sewer tunnel. Mepesto fired his storm-bolter down the tunnel at the unseen attackers, aiming only at the muzzle flashes. Gunner Hemitez appeared at the Captains side and the Battle-Brother braced himself as he fired his multi-melta down the tunnel, the searing beam of the melta weapon illuminating their attackers. Traitor Marines.

Surging forward in the now heated water, Mepesto sprayed his storm-bolter as he forced his way forward. A group of the traitors charged at Mepesto, chainaxes and swords in their hands, eye-aching symbols on their chests. Their battle-cry chilled Mepesto.

"Blood for the Blood God!"

Mepesto meet the berserkers charge head on, his lightening claw slashing one of the blood-mad butchers apart in a shower of blood that stained the water red. Beside Mepesto, Champion Diocleice swung his power sword in a brutal arc, the sword first cutting through the stonework above, and a traitors head below. Diocleice deflected a stab by one of the berserkers with his combat shield and head-butted the bare-headed traitor, smashing the traitors nose across his face. Cursing, Diocleice fired the bolt pistol grasped in his shield arm into the press of traitors, trying to clear a space around him.

Mepesto emptied his storm-bolter into one of the traitors, who stubbornly refused to die even though his body was shattered by the bolts. Mepesto slashed his claw in an x and cut the traitor apart in a spray of blood. With no time to reload his bolter, he slung it and drew a combat knife and plunged back into the fray, stabbing a traitor in the armpit and slashing another across the chest. One of the foul bastards slashed at his arm and his Iron Halo spurted and failed at the sheer strength of the blow and his fist, still with the combat knife clamped between his fingers, fell into the murky water. The artery was severed and his even his larraman cells could not stop his thick, dark red blood from spurting out at a shocking rate.

Pain flooded in his mind, more than the pain suppressors that shot into his system could block out as another traitor stabbed a sword through his leg. Strong hands pulled him out of the fight and the stump of his arm was cauterized and a sealant applied to his leg wound. He could see the form of Sergeant Tirus shouldering his way into the fight, the ancient chainsword he carried carving through flesh and armor with equal ease. The pain in his arm gradually subsided and Mepesto picked himself up, trying to find that his storm-bolter had fallen into the murky water. He had used that storm-bolter since he had become a Captain, almost two decades ago. Finally, he found the venerable weapon. Water poured from the barrels. Maybe he shouldn't use it until he cleaned it again. Signing, Mepesto slung the weapon over his right arm.

Parrying the sword stroke, Erasmus fired two bolts into the traitors' stomach, blasting out the traitors' spine and guts. Reversing his chainsword, he plunged the blade into the traitors' chest, carving apart the ancient power armor in a welter of sparks. Kicking the traitors' body of his sword, Erasmus ducked a spray of bolts from a heavy bolter and dived into cover behind one of the marble columns holding up the roof of the Cathedral of the Emperors Light. The Sergeant unhooked a frag grenade from his belt and lobbed it at towards the traitor's position. As soon as the grenade went off, Erasmus rolled out of cover and put three rounds into the reeling traitor Marine, one of the bolts detonating in the traitors' skull.

Behind him, his squad had occupied to the scarred and damaged Cathedral and Guard squads jogged in and began setting up hard-points or tearing up pews to make room for the numerous wounded.

In the aftermath of the mutant attack, the Imperial advance had slowed, but still tried to push on to retake the Cathedral. Now, they had done just that.

"Sergeant Erasmus,' squawked a garbled voice in his vox-link, interrupted by crashes of gunfire or the screams of wounded, 'This is Kylan. A traitor counter-attack has split the Imperial line. We have been cut off from your location. You are to hold at all costs. Do you understand?"

Moving a muscle in his throat to adjust the frequency to try and clean up the channel, he responded, "Yes sir, I do. Do you have any idea when I will be relieved?"

The channel was static for a moment, then, "The Guard are ferrying in more reinforcements tomorrow. I will try to get them to bring them in today. When I can spare Marines, I will dispatch them to your location. Good luck. Kylan out." Kylan's tone told him what the Chaplain had not said. Even if the Chaplain could spare the Marines, he would need them to restore the line, not rescue him. So, he would have to hold until the Guard reinforcements reached the planet tomorrow.

Erasmus assembled his squad around him and the Guard sergeants and told them the situation.

Stating calmly, he told them, "We have been cut off from the main Imperial lines by a traitor counter-attack. We will be relieved tomorrow. Use the pews to cover the windows and barricade any doors or shell holes. Pray to the Emperor for your souls."

As the Marines and Guard sergeants broke and began to spread the orders, Erasmus unhooked a homer from his belt and set it to the ground, turning it on with a press of his thumb. Hopefully, the homer would signal to the assault Marines waiting aboard circling Thunderhawks that he needed their aid. Hopefully, they would receive the signal in a matter of minutes and descend on his position.

Helmet lights blazing, the command squad navigated the sewer, the auspex still saying they were closing with the Imperial lines. That had been thirty minutes ago. Reiata, who had been carrying the banner rolled-up in a tube during their walk in the sewer, suggested they leave the sewer to regain their bearings.

Olav swiftly planted krak charges on the sewer cover, hopefully killing anyone standing above in a gout of flame and molten metal. Mepesto and the others waited in the darkness, weapons pointed at the cover, or in Mepesto's cause, readying themselves for close-combat. With a snap-crack, the charges went off and blew the cover off. Before the smoke could clear, Mepesto, followed by Gunner Hemitez and Champion Diocleise poured out.

Straight into an Imperial Guard infantry squad, who had weapons pointed straight at them. Mepesto raised his handless right arm in greeting and said through his external vocalizer in a calm voice, "I am Captain Mepesto of the Warhawks First Company."

The Guard sergeant stood up and holstered his pistol, saying in a fearful voice, "Sorry, Lords. We mean no offence, but the traitors have broken through and…"

"The traitors have broken through?" Mepesto interrupted, his voice harsh and angry.

"Yes, Lord, about twenty minutes ago. They went straight through our center, lead by some big bastard with a glaive. Cut down Colonel Dorden with one stroke."

Mepesto turned away and his squad knew exactly what they had to do. They were so close to finishing this.

"Where was this traitor seen last?" Diocleise cut in, his voice calm as always.

"Last we heard he was butchering Wetizgs bunch over by the Cathedral of the Emperors Light, sirs."

Sweeping his Crozius Arcanum over his head, Kylan rallied another of the retreating Guard squads, this bunch had an auto-cannon. After the traitors counter-attack had shattered the disorganized Guard units, Kylan had begun to rally and assemble those still alive in a massive blown out warehouse. They had cut holes in the walls so they could fire out. He had assembled about thirty-five Marines and another four-hundred Guardsmen of various regiments, notably elements of the Ixon Eighth. Erasmus had voxed him back and said that he had another twenty-five Marines and one-hundred and fifty Guard with him. Mepesto had made his appearance, and he was supposedly gathering the fragmented remains of Guard units and battered Space Marine squads.

"Lord Chaplain! The traitor filth are attacking from the west! They've got a Defiler!"

Jumping down from his firing position, Kylan hurried to the west wall. The Guard and scattered Space Marines were already firing, bolters and auto-cannons drowning out the _zip_ of las-weapons. He hopped up to the improvised firing step; just crates stacked up upon each other, and quickly assessed this attack. About a dozen traitor Marines, ahead of which ran a hundred plus cultists. Stomping through a shattered building, the Defiler war-machine came into view, its gigantic claws snapping at the air as if it longed to taste blood. The twin auto-cannons mounted on spoke, the shells punching through the thin walls and shredding two Guardsmen and one of his Marines.

Pointing his Crozius at a Guardsmen with a missile-launcher, he yelled, "Missile-trooper, target the Defiler!"

Another trooper, heavily laden with missiles, shoved a red-tipped missile down the muzzle of the heavy weapon, before crouching behind the trooper and slapping his back. With a crack-whoosh, the krak missile shot towards the unholy war-machine, to detonate against its armored torso with a ball of fire. The Defiler strode on, a jagged crack in its hull where the missile had struck.

"Again, again!" Kylan shouted. The Chaplain raised his pistol and fired the entire magazine into the mass of screaming cultists, the mass-reactive bolts blasting five of the cultists screaming back to hell.


End file.
